Simple Tensions
by Naisumi
Summary: COMPLETED **Chapter 18 UPLOADED!! ~So they're mutants. Does that mean they're not human anymore? Certainly not. Nothing could be more wrong...Please review and help me get to that 100! Please?^^
1. Daybreak merged with Nightfall

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 1/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Wow, I'm on a roll tonight! Keep in mind, this was written at 4 in the morning with no sleep whatsoever and no caffeinated beverages after the initial wiredness of a coffee-flavored candy cane wore off. This is NOT betaread, this is in the FIRST PERSON point of view, and... n.n lots of Brotherhood. 

  


Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

This is my story. You don't have to necessarily listen--you don't even have to _pretend_ to listen. However, this is my story, and even if you don't care about it, it's still going to exist. _I_ am going to exist. And there's little you can do about it. 

It sounds kind of odd to say that, and it's a bit strange to even think that, but it's true, isn't it? If we don't like something, we leave it alone; we ignore it and try to go far away from it. But we never really try to do much about it, do we? And we never try to stop things from happening, do we? This life holds too many uncertainties. Most of these uncertainties can be ignored. 

So, you can ignore me. Go ahead. But I'm still going to be here, and I'm still going to tell my story. I'm still going to tell my story--and out there, somewhere, someone is going to listen. 

  


  


  


I pretend an awful lot, but then again, who doesn't? Sometimes we joke--my friends and I--that if all else fails, we should up and leave this lazy old town and join the freakin' circus. We're just teasing, really; it's just a gag, a prank we play on ourselves. But then again, we get kind of defensive sometimes, like all people do. Like, for instance, I remember this kid in my neighborhood that was German. His parents used to hold these late-night kaffee-klatsches where they'd get together with a bunch of friends and drink coffee or beer or vodka. They used to joke--the parents and their company--that back in Germany, everyone was a drunk and that beer flowed from the tap like water. And that was fine...joking around, calling each other deadbeat drunks. But if someone else--someone not German--was to call them the same thing, they'd be all over them and in their face and whatnot. 

It's the same thing with every culture, really. I'm not trying to be racist or prejudiced; just making an observation. (A/N: And it _is_ true, by the way. I'm Chinese so I've experienced it, and my friend who is from Germany has parents who actually do joke around with their friends about being drunks ^.~ Just so you know.) 

Well, we're the same way. We're the same thing. We're family, you know? It doesn't matter if there's an argument going on; if some guy walked up to one of us and called us scum, the other three'd kick his ass. I feel safer that way, really. Plus, I get a lot of satisfaction knowing the other guy's wishing that he never said anything disrespectful, too. 

Sometimes I wonder about us. About life. I mean, this town? This town ain't ever going anywhere. This town isn't even going with the times. A freakin' nuclear bomb could drop in Russia, and two weeks after, all these poor saps over here'd be wondering, 'What happened now? A bomb, you say? When'd _that_ happen?' 

It's all for the better, though. It makes the world seem less real; the hate less painful. 

  


  


  


I was the first one here. I mean, it all fell into place later, but I was the first one _physically_ here. Then Lance came, and Pietro, and Freddy. Rogue was here for a while, but that made no impact. She was never really with us anyway--not mentally or emotionally. 

It all made sense after a while. It all even played out like a bad movie, filled with plenty of irritated tantrums and a few good earthquakes every now and then. Anyhow, it all made sense to me. 

Lance is the oldest of us. The moody, badass senior who's got nothin' to lose and everything to gain. Right. Whatever. I swear he's a mother hen deep down inside; it just got buried under a landslide of major crap. That doesn't really matter, though, because three months into the Brotherhood (of Evil Mutants--don't let them convince you otherwise) actually getting formed, the Mother Hen in him burst out of the wreckage, clucking and cawing with a vengeance. Well, maybe it was after three months. Takes some time for a guy on the street to actually start giving a damn, if you know what I mean. 

I'm not sure what to think of Lance. I don't think any of us do. I mean, we know almost _nothing_ about his past, yet the minute he says 'Believe me,' we do. Maybe it's because he always looks like he's taking you seriously when it matters. Maybe it's because he acts like he's just one of the guys when he actually ends up cranking out some philosophical stuff disguised as street lingo. Maybe it's because we know he cares even though he doesn't act like it. Either way, I'd take Lance Alvers with his crazy streak and secretively hen-like impulses than any Scott 'I have a filing system in the trunk of my car' Summers any day. 

All I have to say is: Cock-a-fuckin'-doodle-doo. (Seeing as Lance would probably kill me if I ever made a chicken sound in relation to him.) 

Then there's Pietro. Oh, you _know_ I have to do this. Pietro's absurd, quirky, disturbingly hyper, irritatingly smug, (I'm getting the thesaurus out at this point), upsettingly arrogant, and decidedly queer (Yes, I mean it literally, and yes, I mean it the other way, too). Pietro...is something else. Plus, Lance discovered the other day amidst many a chuckle and in wandering about a new supermarket, lost, that if we shorten his last name to the first two syllables, he could be the proud instrument that aids woman in her battle against messy menstrual cycles. We wasted lots of cheap cotton from inside old pillows over that one. 

See, Pietro's got this weird puckish way about him (yes, I just used the word 'puckish.' Have you ever actually cracked Webster open before? Interesting words are in here. What the hell is a 'puccoon?' It sounds the sound a dying platypus might make.) that makes you want to either strangle him or start laughing helplessly. If you're not careful, he'll kick your ass later on for laughing. In fact, he's kind of like a penguin. Strutting around like he's wearing a tuxedo when he's actually a fat little bird that can't fly. Not that Pietro is fat or anything; he's anything but (Once, he told me that he had a 'girlish' figure--which made Lance laugh at him and accuse him of eating nothing but rabbit food again). So it kind of defeats the whole purpose of the analogy, since the guy can run really, really fast. It comes with the whole 'genetically mutated and screwed over for life' territory. 

I could probably go on about Pietro for a while, seeing as he's got the weirdest little quirks (There was this odd little phase where he said 'whoosh' every time he opened the refrigerator door, but I have selective pondering as to keep myself sane. There's only so much a guy can take, you know. Plus, none of us really understood what that was about, though I got pelted with many carrots when I asked him if he'd gotten the fridge mixed up with the car door again. Heh. It was worth it.). However, I can't forget Freddy. 

Ah, good ol' Freddy. Sometimes, he's all a guy needs, you know? I mean, with the crazy fruitiness that is Pietro and the quintessence (yes, Mr. Webster's sitting right next to me right now) of enigma that embodies Lance, it's nice to converse with someone who understands what you're talking about (and doesn't go off on weird tangents about hummingbirds. I swear...I'm scarred for life.). Or at least tries to. 

Freddy's fine. He ain't the smartest, he ain't the best-looking, and he ain't the nicest or meanest or anything like that. He's just Freddy. I don't think I even know his last name. We just call him...Freddy. He's a pretty cool guy. 

Did you know that he sculpts? Big, tall, hefty guy with the bright yellow mohawk? He has this thing for clay. I mean, he just loves working with it. It's amazing what he does with it, too--I mean, his hands are so..._big_, you'd never think that he was capable of molding that soft gray stuff into delicate little models. He made me a frog once, one that was sitting on a rock. I still have it in my room; I use it as a bookend even though I only have three books. As a joke, he made me another one, which was almost the same except for a little crown that was tilted jauntily to one side and its lips puckered for a kiss. He's like the big brother I never had, and he's the confession booth that I go to so I can talk about stuff, stuff that I need to be kept a secret, not solved or anything. If I want to solve anything, I'll go to Lance. But meanwhile, I'm better than okay with just talking to good ol' Freddy. 

Actually, I lied. I have more than three books. I have tons. Lots and lots and lots. I even have 'A Tale of Two Cities.' Once, I was rereading it and Pietro came in (without knocking, the asshole). He recited Dr. Seuss to me for the better part of four hours, whereupon I finally gave up trying to tune him out with Metallica and yelled for Lance to help. After the Sugar-Crazed Fairy was banished, I finally got to settle down and finish the book. Again. 

Okay, I admit that I'm a booknut. I love books. And that sounds unbelievably dorky--believe me, I know. I had to tell Lance once. Well, I didn't _tell_ him. It was more like him holding up a copy of Charles Dickens and arching an eyebrow, looking for all the world like a good cop gone bad. Or like those guys from the old detective movies where the man in the trench coat _knows_ what's going on but is waiting for a big long speech to clue the audience in on what he so expertly knows. I never really said anything, but I remember feeling a helluva lot more embarrassed than I've felt in a while when I scuffed my toe on the carpet and grabbed the book. I think I mumbled a 'thanks,' but please inform my brain if I did because I couldn't hear over all the blood deciding to pool in my skull. By all natural laws of anatomy, I should be dead by now. 

But he understood. Well, maybe he doesn't understand _all_ of it, but he just kind of tousled my hair, told me to not get myself fucked up and left. I wonder about what he meant by that sometimes. Most of the time, though, I just thank whatever Powers there are in this world that Lance Alvers didn't demand an explanation. Moreover, I thank whatever Powers there are in this _universe_ that it wasn't _Pietro_ who found one of my books. From then on, I kept all my lovely, paperback books in an old trunk I found behind the school in a dumpster. The bottom was falling out, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with duct tape. Ah...duct tape. I love duct tape. Duct tape is my friend. 

Of course, Pietro doesn't very well like duct tape. 

Then again, Pietro had his head duct taped to the coffee table when Lance was pissed once. Never mind that the speed demon had been asleep and Lance had been awake and scheming. Never mind that Lance had been rightfully pissed when he found out that Pietro had stolen his mattress to go sledding in the park (in July, no less. Lots of grass was torn up that day. I think that the ducks enjoyed pecking at the nice cheap cotton crap inside the mattress, though.). 

Hell hath no freakish wrath like a Pietro scorned. 

Sometimes I think we can all agree that he was a woman in all his past lives. Of course, I think we'd all be damned if we ever told him. He'd stalk us and make our lives miserable. Or a whole lot more interesting. Either way, it'd make the recitation of Dr. Seuss mangled with insertions from the Kama Sutra seem a whole lot less headache-inspiring. Can you believe that I've actually gotten that _twice_ from him? What kind of guy does that?! It's _inhuman_! My innocence was corrupted that day. 

Actually, I think my innocence was corrupted when I saw Duncan Matthews in the back of a pick-up with an indecently dressed hooker. 

Ughhh. 

I still spend nights filled with indigestion trying to get over that one. 

Even though Pietro was pretty pissed off and our house ended up in extreme disarray, we somehow found ourselves flopped on the back porch (though Pietro claimed the steps and wouldn't let anyone else sit. Who knew that such a wiry guy could take up so much space if he wanted to? He's like a freakin' slinky!) and staring up at the sky. Of course, Lance knew all the constellations. And of course Pietro knew all of the ones that he couldn't remember. 

It's interesting like that, really. I mean, we really complete each other as a group. Pietro talks too much and Freddy doesn't talk at all. Lance went a little crazy trying to cover all the bases and answer all the questions while I just...well, I shut up. According to Pietro, anyway. He says that I never talk when I'm supposed to except to make wise-ass cracks about random things. It pisses him off sometimes, but just in an irritated buddy-buddy way. I think it almost makes him respect me, too...not that he doesn't respect me for my own. 

But in any case, it's interesting how that works. Sometimes life's just full of surprises. 

And, of course, there's the even more interesting story of how everything just went to hell... 

~tbc~ 


	2. Not far from Where

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 2/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

Notes: Yes, I'm definitely on a roll. And I'm pulling these chapter names out of my ass. *coughs* Anyway ^-^;; Uh...more intro into the thick of things...you get to hear some interesting foreshadowing and symbolism. Have fun! 

Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

-- 

Once Pietro compared me to a pothead whose dealer was Staind and people that I'd never actually meet. I don't remember what my witty retort was, but I'm sure it was really scathing (if that's so, then I wonder why all I can remember is him laughing at me...?). But he did--he said I got high on music. I do _not_ get 'high' on music. I get 'ecstatic' about music. There's a difference, dumbass. 

So not only did Pietro compare me to being a total crackhead, he also told me that I sounded like the gangsta version of Kermit when I had a cold. I'd just like to clarify that I am a _toad_. Kermit is a _frog_. Frogs are considerably greener than toads. I like to think of myself as a mellow beige color. 

... 

Alright, that said, all I have left is to warn all of you poor innocents out there to never hang with Pietro for more than two hours. Sanity just kinda slips through your fingers then. 

Anyways, I'm going to start at the beginning. I'm going to start at the beginning of the story, and help me God, I'm going to make it to the end. I don't even believe in God much anymore. But for some reason, I still wear my cross. It's not even a fancy cross; just some cheap too-yellow gold chain and a plain cross dangling from it. My mother gave it to me before she completely lost it and turned into a disease-ridden alcoholic and drug addict. My mother gave it to me before she shot herself in the head when she was going through withdrawal. My mother gave it to me when she loved me. 

Maybe I still keep it because it reminds me of Lance and the others and Mom and everyone. I'm not sure why, really. I do know what the others thought of it, though. I mean, shiny gold necklaces don't escape notice for long. 

Pietro asked me where I got it from and I told him truthfully that it was from my mother. He didn't say anything about that; didn't even need Lance to give him a significant look to make him shut up. Instead, he just kind of looked at it, wiped at it with his sleeve. Then, he smiled and told me that it was really pretty. Like real gold. 

I told him he was crazy and that it was totally fake, but he just shook his head and kept on grinning. That kid's so weird sometimes. 

But now that I think about it, maybe he was smiling for a reason. Maybe he saw something that I hadn't seen before. I'm thinking about all of this now, so I guess I have the prerogative of adding my thoughts about all that stuff I didn't know about back then. 

Now that I'm thinking about it...maybe he told me it looked real for a reason. Like I said before, Pietro's real quirky. He's got a lot of little facets that are real startling and almost always surprises. You never see it coming when he's going to say something almost profound. You never see it coming when he doesn't say anything at all. And, even more rarely, you never see it coming when he smiles to himself and nods, understanding every damn thing no one else does. 

Now, at the beginning of my story...at the beginning of my story, we're all beat. We're all tired and scared and unsure. Except for Lance--though I'm sure he was inside, too. But he never acted like it. He never lost his swagger, and he never stopped telling us to believe. It's kind of ironic, that. 

I expected Pietro to be the one to keep his cool, you know? I mean--Pietro _is_ the epitome of cool. If I wanted to sound like one of those wimpy teen surveys, I'd say that he was mint and Lance was dark chocolate. We never know what to expect out of Lance--especially not a whole lot of verbal comfort. But then again, he just kept his mantra, his philosophy that makes us somehow have faith: 'Believe it.' 

And just as Lance kept his cool, Pietro didn't. Sure, he was still cocky and arrogant and thrill-seeking. Sure, he was fast-talking and fast-paced and just plain fast. Sure, he was quirky and odd and working himself into a self-induced hyperactive frenzy. But it wasn't the same. When he smiled, it was like his lips were stretched tight over his face, like a string about to break. When he laughed, there was this note of hysteria that almost _hurt_. When he leered at any of the X-geeks and said, 'Sounds like a challenge,' daring them with his eyes to attack him, sometimes...just sometimes, it looked like he really _wanted_ them to hurt him. 

But of course they never did. Daniels came close to snapping once, but Lance got pissed and everyone got into a big fight. Of course, once the action broke out, Freddy came lumbering in and just _glared_ at anyone who came near Pietro or me or Lance, even. And, of course, the whole damn fight got broken up by that _oh-so-sweet_ know-it-all Jean Grey. God, I hate her sometimes. Usually, I don't reserve any hate for any of the X-geeks...but Grey? She brought Freddy's hopes up then cast them down in disgust. That's beyond cruel. Honestly...sometimes I think all those bastards have no clue what they're allegedly fighting for. And all the time, I _know_ that they don't know what _we're_ fighting for. 

Before the whole vow of silence curtain-of-gloom of the beginning of all things damned, I remember that we didn't even care. Sure Mystique was all blue and scary. Sure Magneto was Pietro's daddy. Who cared? We didn't owe Mystique jack--Pietro had smiled eerily and told us we would've met anyway; I guess we leapt at the opportunity to get Lady M of Bitchdom off our backs--and Magneto didn't even show his oblong-shaped head anywhere. Yeah, they're really about teamwork, huh? And survival? Bunch of bullshit. 

But like I said, we didn't care. I mean, mutants, normal humans, what was the point? We were all people. We all think and feel. I think that's the thing about the streets--you become a little jaded, but you also realize the big picture, the huge earth-shattering secret about life that God or whatever divinity intended us to see. We're all the same. Some of us have been tainted by--I don't know, whatever you want to call it; garbage, sin, shit; all that stuff. Some of us have been raped inside out with both flesh and words. And some of us still believe. 

It's interesting to think about that (I find many things interesting upon introspect). There were so many changes and plummets and high-rises and hellbent hearts in my--our--story that where we ended up was so far away from where we started. But actually, it wasn't all that different. In the beginning we were tired, worn, scared, and unsure. In the end...in the end, it didn't matter anyway because everyone goes through life tired, worn, and unsure. But the startling things--the little things that you never expect...those are the things that boggle my mind. Who would've thought that he couldn't have dreamt would dream? Who would've thought that he who stayed so close to earth would lose himself to tears from the sky? Who would've thought that so much sunlight can vanish in just a slice--in just a miniscule cut? And who...who would've thought that he who was bound by silence all this time...who would've thought that he could fly free? 

~tbc~ (A/N: Yeah, I know it's short, but it wouldn't make sense to continue this part after that lovely cliffhanger n.n; ) 


	3. Chasing Rainbows with my Diary

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 3/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Yes, I'm definitely on a roll. And I'm pulling these chapter names out of my ass. *coughs* Anyway ^-^;; Uh...more intro into the thick of things...you get to hear some interesting foreshadowing and symbolism. Have fun! 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

  


It was winter when it started. I remember--because I wrote a poem about it. I wrote...I wrote that all the snowflakes looked like sugar fluttering from the sky, sprinkling the earth as if they were trying to make the world sweet and pure and beautiful. I think that if there's a God out there, He doesn't realize how terrible mankind can be. And if He does, then He's a dreamer; a believer...someone who doesn't know when to lose faith. No, let me rephrase that...Someone who doesn't know when to stop being so damned naive and start being just a little jaded so to protect themselves. 

I remember it was winter, see, because we were cleaning the house. God, I hated cleaning the house--it's a pretty big blow to the ego when you see all the dust and grime in the nooks and crannies, you know? It's like you haven't been a good tenant and you just feel like saying, 'Listen, house, I'm awfully sorry about not cleaning up. How 'bout spring?' 

But it's even worse if you clean up in the spring, because then you're sweeping all that dust and crap out of the backdoor into what's supposed to be fresh and clean. Hey, no one ever said that I never felt guilty. 

Anyway, so we were cleaning up...well, actually, Lance and I were cleaning up. Freddy was afraid he'd break something (he's terribly clumsy for a sculptor for some reason. If I didn't know him, I'd be pretty suspicious...) and Pietro was racing around the kitchen as if it were a pinball machine gone bad. No, he wasn't _racing_. Allow me to clear up the terminology. You see, when someone is 'racing,' this would imply that they were running. Now, if you were 'whizzing,' then that would imply moving by at an extremely fast speed. When you add socks with static cling and lots of Cheer to the 'whizzing' and 'racing' and all around weirdness that is Pietro, somehow the equation ends up with the product of 'squeaking.' I've never done the math. I've never been able to get through the scenario without collapsing into laughter. But that's really beside the point. 

So Pietro ain't helping and Fred can't help, which left just me and Lance, like I said before. Later on, I think Lance gave some sponges with rubber bands to Pietro and told him to strap them on his feet so that at least he'd leave the linoleum squeaky clean while he squeaked around in his squeaky socks (This, oddly enough, brought about the retort from 'etro that his socks weren't 'squeaky,' but were 'cottony soft.'). 

Anyway, so we were cleaning...just the two of us. And suddenly I had an epiphany. I remember this very clearly, because I had been cleaning out a cobweb at the time and when I jumped up in the patented 'Eureka!' pose, the damn thing got stuck to my nose. Pietro laughed at me while he squeaked by. It wasn't very fun. 

Despite the whole unsavory sticky incident (I scowled a lot and I'll have you know that I was looking _extremely_ hostile and fear-inspiring. Take that, Pietro!) I felt a lot better than I had earlier, when everything had been all gloomy. Actually, if I remember correctly, Pietro seemed to get a whole lot happier as soon as it began snowing. Before he had been so high-strung and frenetic but now...now he had a semblance to the Pietro that we all knew and tolerated. My epiphany--which I kept to myself--was that maybe I wasn't so different from Lance. Okay, so it's a little dorky, but I had this weird little hero worship thing I had for him back then. Still do. The guy's just...worshipable, I guess. Though...that sounds a bit strange. What I mean is that...well, that maybe there was a chance that I wouldn't _always_ be innocent little Toddie who can't protect himself. 

Lance could always look out for himself, with us or without. And now that we were all together, he was looking out for all of us. That takes real courage, and real strength--not all those hokey lies and stupid worthless words of false comfort. I guess the thing about Lance is that he's _real_. He's authentic and genuine (and no, I ain't talking about leather or Levi jeans here). And that makes us feel safe. 

I've always wanted to be like that. I mean, sometimes even _I_ can't believe the way I act. Some mornings I wake up and look in the mirror and say, 'Hello there, Mr. Cardboard Cut-Out of Boy who says Yo. What're we doing today?' And yes, I do that even now. Actually, I don't. I'm too used to being used to myself...sometimes I forget that I've changed. But I'll get to that later. 

I've always wanted to be real and true to myself. As weird and stupid as it sounds, it's like being in love with the concept of love. I wanted to be something I wasn't, and somehow I forgot that I wasn't supposed to be happy and was. It's real complicated...I think that deep down back then, I wasn't happy. I mean, on a fundamental level with myself. So I hid. I mean, we all hide, right? After all that shit we've gone through...we all hide. So I ran away from the me that I hated and made up this other guy, this Todd Tolensky who was okay and a little bitter but all around a nice guy. Of course, I realized later that I really _was_ okay, a little bitter, and an all around nice guy (if I do say so myself), but this was only after I realized that I had pretended so hard to be _that_ version of myself that didn't have all the disappointment. Instead, then I was me without all the hatred toward myself. I was just me...me with ambition, two tearing sides, one of which wanted me to be like Lance, to be safe and okay for everyone else including me. The other side wanted me to be me. Wanted me to forget about trying to be something else. The other side wanted me to be happy. 

So for the longest time I was stuck pretending to be myself, pretending so well that I could even pretend to not be good at acting. Lance thought he saw through my mask at the me inside, but he was just looking past the cracked visor of my helmet at my blindfolded eyes, still no closer to who I truly was than I was myself. 

Yeah, I was fucked up then. Maybe that's what Lance was talking about when he told me _not_ to get fucked up. Reading books screwed with my head. They allowed relief; allowed me to escape from the messed up shithole of a world we live in, but they also captured my mind. I was fucked up alright; practically on a trip. There were even some memories that I didn't have until about five months ago. Back then, I'd be physically there sometimes, but other times, I'd be daydreaming. No...not daydreaming. I'd be spacing out. I'd be gone. I'd be empty. 

But frighteningly enough, I wasn't the only one empty, and I wasn't the only one fucked up. I wasn't the only one confused...and I definitely wasn't the only one hating myself. 

  


My epiphany was that brief flicker of light that kind of flashes before the light bulb completely sizzles out. You know what I mean. You're knocking a flashlight against the wall, wondering why the hell it won't work. The batteries seem to be dead, so you peer into the front of it, staring at the unresponsive light bulb and flicking the switch. Then--bam! The tricky little bastard flashes for one instant and blinds you like a diseased old bat in the ashes of some old abandoned mine. But then everything's dark, and all you can see is a bunch of blurry white dots swimming in your vision. Just like life...whenever you're stuck in the dark, you can only see the good times and mourn for a past that was at least better than the present. 

So that was that. I had my little flash of truth and glee, and everything goes to hell. If it didn't hurt so damn much, I'd make a joke about how only one of us gets good luck at a time. If it had been true, I'd make that joke...but since it's not, I can't really say anything. Instead, I can just say what happened. I can just say everything straightforward and tell everyone what happened...what went wrong. 

But, you see...you _can't_ understand. You _can't_understand until I explain why. Then, maybe, you'll understand why one of us was actually innocent. Then, maybe, you'll understand why it hurt so damn much for me. Then...maybe you'll really, truly, _understand_... 

Maybe. 

~tbc~ 


	4. And the First shall Fall

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 4/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Now we get into the darkness. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

It all happened at once, not slowly like in the movies. I remember it all. Sometimes I get the past and present confused; talk about people as if they were here when they're not. But these few weeks--I remember them so clearly I don't ever need to question if they happened before now or the day after. 

I came home from school, expecting Lance there or at least Pietro lounging around. Lance had the afternoon off from work where he all this boring secretarial shit--only for a _chemical_ lab. It didn't really matter where he was working, though; it was still a drag, and the others could tell. There was no one there. The house had been empty. 

It hadn't really bothered me; after all, it wasn't like I needed a babysitter or anything. I had been a junior at that time; _perfectly_ capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I can still remember what it had been like when I had had to stay there until it had been nearly eight and Freddy had staggered in. I can still remember as if I were there...as if it were happening all over again... 

  


  


"Freddy, what the hell happened?!" 

The larger teen had a glazed look in his eyes, unlike any I had ever seen before. It wasn't peaceable, and it wasn't angry--wasn't any emotion recognizable. I took a step toward him, my Physics book clattering to the tile floor, trying to reach for his arm to help his staggering weight, but he twisted like a cannon, one hand bracing against the counter in a crushing vice-like grip. Freddy's other arm was in front of him held tremblingly straight as if he were trying to fend off shadowy demons from the depths of his mind. 

"Freddy!" I yelled, trying to get through to him. I had never seen him like this; never this enraged. Lunging to the side, I barely missed the brunt of his weight as he stumbled, his shoulder crashing into the water stained linoleum and leaving a dent. He wasn't trying to attack me, I realized with desperation still clouding my mind; he was trying to _fight_ something off. But what? There was nothing there. Nothing... 

There was a pang of burning hurt in my ankle, and I wondered distantly if I'd broken something only to hiss in pain as Freddy rolled off of my leg, both hands now clutching the sides of his head, fingers clenched so tightly I was chilled with fright that they might tear through his pulsing veins, blood-sprung flesh, that they might shatter the tough bone of his skull like boulders and rocks and earth under his normally gentle palms. Instinctively, I recoiled, muffling a cry of pain with the inside of my elbow as I grabbed onto the leg of a chair into which my ankle had collided. It felt almost numb now with occasional spasm of pain filtering through the thick choking cloud of worry and panic that was now smothering my mind. 

_You're so _stupid_ Tolensky,_ I berated myself, struggling to collect the calm and rationality that I had told myself and many others many times that I was capable of. _C'mon...what the hell could possibly freak Freddy out this much?!_

But he wasn't just 'freaked out.' Freddy was in _pain_. He was kneeling there, his elbows just a few inches from his knees, his head cupped, his whole lumbering frame rocking back and forth, as if he were nursing a child. I crawled toward him, one hand cautiously reaching out, 

"C'mon Freddy...Freddy, it's gonna be okay, man--c'_mon_...what the hell _happened_?" 

There was the slamming of the screen porch and the sound of footsteps, a beat of silence, then heavy running. 

"Holy shit, what the--" 

"Lance!" My head jerked up almost painfully and I stared at him, my eyes stinging with foreign warmth. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or to just retreat into myself at the sight of Lance--but despite it all, despite my hands quivering and clutching Freddy's shoulder so fuckin' piteously, I _knew_ that Lance would fix it. 

"Fuck, what the hell happened, Todd?!" 

"I...I-I don't know," I said, feeling like I was on the edge, the precipice of some long engulfing plunge that I might take at any moment. This was _Freddy_. Freddy, who made clay frogs and etched roses in play dough with toothpicks. Freddy, who didn't mind that sometimes lightning storms scared the hell out of me because of closet monsters that were never banished by loving parents. _Freddy_--honest to goodness _**Freddy**_, who was always, _always_ there. 

Then I was angry. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt again--not now. Bayville was supposed to be new; a fresh start. This hurt _didn't belong here_. I wanted the pain gone. I wanted everything gone. I wanted it to just be me and them...I wanted it to be alright after everything. 

Of course it hadn't been alright. I remember everything that happened...and it hadn't been alright. It hadn't been alright when we found out what had happened to him. It hadn't been alright ever after that... 

~tbc~ 


	5. What it All Comes Down to...

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 5/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time, and...yeah. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

It's never totally quiet in winter. There's always snow creaking on the roof and the piping cracking with ice and chill. The wind always roars by your ears with a loud 'whoosh' when you step outside into the Bayville picture-perfect winter. But inside, inside is where the noise usually is. 

Pietro's always had this strange habit of celebrating Christmas. I mean, we'd set up the tree and everything, but he's always had this weird little globe thing perched at the top. And he wouldn't make eggnog, but triple mocha cappuccino. I guess the latter makes some sort of sense--I asked him once and he told me that if it was Christmas, then we should drink whatever it is that we wanted. Lance had said it was bullshit (probably because of all the sugar Pietro'd ingest in the duration of the holiday. The former makes no sense at all, though. 

I asked him about the worn multicolored spherical thing once and he told me that it represented the world. Instead of explaining like any other sane person, he had offered me ginger snaps afterward. I guess I'll never understand what that was about. 

It's never totally quiet in winter, even when it's still and soundless outside. I'd be playing CDs on our stereo and Freddy would be watching TV. Lance would be staring down the oven, daring it to burn the cookies that he painstakingly made and Pietro would be lying under the Christmas tree staring up at the lights with a silly grin on his face. 

But right now...it was totally, completely, silent. 

I stared at the floor. It was linoleum, white, reflective. It reminded me of snow, carpeting the hallway. This snow wasn't pretty and natural, though. This snow was manmade and contaminated with gray lines crisscrossing it like a board of tic-tac-toe. 

The hospital lights were fluorescent and cast a harsh light on everyone; not the golden houselights that made your complexion look better, your eyes less haunted, but a clear disturbing brightness that makes you look just as tired as you really are and then some. I hated hospitals. 

Lance and I were the only ones there even though he had tried to call Pietro earlier. The doctors had told us that Freddy had been spiked with ecstasy. 

"Ecstasy?! Freddy's no addict," Lance was angry, sienna eyes flashing. 

"How the hell do they get off telling us that Freddy had _ecstasy_ in him?!" 

I didn't know what to say. It hurt, knowing that Freddy was in the ER. It hurt, knowing that he would probably have 'irreversible brain damage.' It hurt...that Pietro wasn't here. Where was he? He wasn't a deserter. Then again, Freddy didn't do drugs. So what the hell was going on? 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Alvers. Is there a parent or guardian I can call?" 

"No." Lance frowned and swung his head toward the emergency room door again. "No, there isn't." 

"Professor Charles Xavier," I didn't know why I said it, and Lance looked like he was about to kill me for speaking _that name_. 

"Who?" The nurse looked slightly startled, having gone from getting no answer to a name. 

"Charles Xavier..." I repeated, wishing I hadn't. 

"I'll call him immediately," The nurse gave me a strange look and left. 

"What the hell was _that_ about?!" Lance was glaring at me now, torn between wanting to scream at me, and wanting to scream at the world in general. 

"I don't know," I said, eyes wide. Sometimes I speak without thinking, but most of the time it's the other way around. Just like Pietro always says--never talking at the right time. "But he'll know what to do, won't he?" 

Lance worked his jaw for a few moments, looking like he was about to say something. Then, heaving a sigh, he sank down in the chair next to me, saying dully, "Yeah, I guess." 

There wasn't any pride in his voice, and his posture was slumped, more slumped than I had ever seen him before. It was as if the fight had left him in an instance, as if all the years of battling society's authority had evaporated from him. Then again, surviving _had_ always been at the top of our priorities. His priorities. 

'Believe it.' 

"Okay," I said, not sure if I was agreeing with that remembered phrase or just acknowledging him. "Okay." 

We sat there for a while, I'm not sure how long. I kept thinking about clay frogs and lying under the Christmas tree and riding in cars with the stereo on top volume. 

There was the clicking of footsteps when they came; the smooth gliding of wheels and the soft tick-tick-tick when the wheelchair slid over the gray crisscrossing lines that outlined tiles in the linoleum floor. I wanted to laugh, the X-geeks practically _sounded_ hostile just walking. Lance stood up. 

"Professor Xavier." 

I hadn't been aware that Lance was able to sound so formal. 

"I'm sorry you had to come. Todd didn't know what he was saying." 

No, I didn't know what I had been saying. Yes, he had to tell them that. It was easier that way. I was fine with it, but I still didn't want to look at them. I just stared at the bottom of the wall across from me, stared at the scuff-marked linoleum. 

"It's alright," the professor sounded so damn kind, "I'd like to help." 

Bullshit, I thought. If you had wanted to help, you wouldn't have been so damn fickle...tossing me out. Rejecting all of us. 

I wanted to hate him. I wanted to hate him, but part of me--the sensible part that liked to read books--told me that if he hadn't thrown me out, I wouldn't have ever met Pietro and Lance and Freddy. But then again, Pietro had always said that we'd have met anyway. I told the part of me to shove it and listened to Pietro's nonsensical saying. It was easier that way. 

"You don't have to." Lance sounded just as grudging as the professor sounded compassionate. 

They're all liars, I thought, hating how fake the professor was, and hoped that Jean Grey was here so she could hear me. Maybe I just wanted to be heard. Or maybe I just wanted them to know how much they were hypocritical. 

"That's right," another voice--Scott Summers. What a fucking wannabe. Maybe I'm a little bitter right now, I thought, feeling giddy, because usually I ain't this hateful. Usually I'm not. But right now, I hated them all. Usually I understood that Summers wanted to be good and righteous--I almost respected him for it. But right now...right now he was just a wannabe. 

"We don't have to. So why did you call?" 

"Scott," the professor sounded disapproving, and it made me think of an owner yanking back the leash of their dog. Then, Xavier turned his attention back to Lance, "Lance, I want to help you, but I can't if you don't tell me what happened." 

"Like you don't know," Lance replied and I laughed. They probably looked at me, but I couldn't stop and it took too much energy to want to. 

"Todd," Lance crouched in front of me, and I wish he hadn't. I wanted to keep looking at the floor. 

"Todd, c'mon, kid...get it together." 

"He's not coming out," I said, my eyes stinging again like it had in the kitchen. "I have a Physics quiz tomorrow," I added, even though I wasn't sure why I did. 

There was silence, then Lance said quietly, ignoring my first comment, "I'll help you study later, okay?" 

He got up again and walked toward my left. I heard him say something about not talking about such upsetting things in front of me, then he left with the Professor and Summers and whoever had been with them. Someone sat down next to me and I could smell lilies. 

"Todd...you okay?" 

Rogue. What the hell was she doing here? 

Abruptly I didn't even feel angry; just tired. 

"Yeah," I rubbed at my forehead and turned toward her. She was wearing the same outfit she usually wore with the same dark make up she always had on. It comforted me in a strange way; here was something I could deal with. "Yeah, I'm fine." 

"What're you doin'?" 

"Waiting for Pietro." I didn't want to talk about Freddy. I didn't want to talk about how scared I had been or how scared I was. Maybe talking about Pietro would help...but then again, Rogue never got to meet Pietro. I looked at her again. Her hair seemed a little longer, her eyes not as hardened. Maybe living with the X-geeks had been good to her. 

"Ah mean, what happened, Todd?" 

She never called me Todd anymore. Just 'Toad.' _'Toad'_, like I wasn't even worth a real name. _Toad_. 

I was angry again. 

"Why should I tell you? Left us, didn't you? Didn't even bother saying sorry, yo." 

The book-loving side of me was aghast. I was afraid and anxious and angry all at the same time. I was upset at remembering, and I was upset at her saying my name. She looked angry, too. 

"What's _that_ s'pposed to mean? Ah was just askin' what happened, Tod--" 

"Oh, so it's 'Todd,' again?" I laughed. It felt nice to laugh--but it also made me want to cry. Why did it hurt to laugh like this? 

"It hasn't been 'Todd' for a while, has it?" 

Rogue looked horrified and mumbled some excuse before leaving that I didn't really hear. I was too busy staring at the floor again. 

When Lance came back, he was with Summers and Grey and he looked like he was about to kill someone. I didn't really blame him. The doctor had told me there had been extensive brain damage done to Freddy and that he would probably never wake up. Ever. 

Lance hadn't been here for the news. I didn't want to tell him. 

He looked pissed off, but when he saw me, his expression kind of lost its edge. 

"Pietro come by yet?" 

"No," I said, turning to watch Summers and Grey. They stared at me, and I stared back. 

"Any word on Freddy?" 

I paused, then smiled, "He's going to be fine." 

There was silence, then Lance said softly, "No, he's not. What'd the doctors say, Todd?" 

"He's going to be fine," I repeated, my eyes stinging again. That had been happening a lot lately, and I thought about asking for some eye drops, but I started laughing again. I think at some point I started dry sobbing because Lance was rubbing at my back, telling me that it was alright. 

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I mumbled and ran for the restroom, leaving Lance behind. Lance and two confused X-geeks. I hope they go to hell. 

I returned after a while, even though I wanted to sit in the bathroom stall and draw with whiteout on the walls. I didn't have any whiteout, anyway, and Lance would've gotten worried if I was gone for more than five minutes. 

He stood when I came back, and from the look of things, the doctor had returned again and told them the truth. I smiled. 

"He's alright." I said, "I told you he was." 

"Todd..." I don't think Lance knew what to say to me then. I don't even know why I kept saying Freddy was okay, even though I knew he wasn't. 

"Todd," he repeated, "Todd, they found Pietro." 

I felt cold and wasn't sure why. "Oh, really? Gone sledding in the park again?" 

"No, Todd," Lance glanced to the side, looking at Summers and Grey as if he wasn't sure whether or not to tell me with them there. 

"He's getting a blood transfusion now, but they're not sure if it's going to help." 

"Blood transfusion," I echoed, sitting down again. Jean Grey put her hand on my shoulder but I shrugged it off. 

"Why the hell...does he need a blood transfusion?" 

Lance looked uncomfortable, there by himself. I've never seen him so uncomfortable before; so nervous. He had always been so confident--so in your face and take-it-or-leave it. 

"Do you know what hemophilia is?" Jean asked me. I wanted to tell her to shut up. Lance did. 

I think Summers wanted to hit him, but he didn't; just sat there looking just as uncomfortable as Lance was. 

"His blood ain't clotting," I answered Jean's question anyway. Looking at Lance, I asked, "Is that what happened? He's bleeding to death? 'etro?" 

"Evan found him," Summers spoke up finally, "He was hysterical." 

I didn't really care if Daniels had been hysterical or not. I didn't really care who found him, either, so I ignored what Summers said. 

"What happened?" 

"He got cut." Lance was staring at me with dark eyes, as if willing me to believe what he was going to say next. "Just a small one, but he got cut." He paused, then said softly, "Pietro's going to be fine. Believe it." 

Believe it. I smiled and told him I did, but I don't think he bought it. The truth was that I didn't know if I believed it or not. 

"Can we go see him?" 

Lance shook his head, and from the look of things, he was slowly building up his walls again. He looked a little more confident than before even though his eyes were still dark and his voice was still grim. 

"Was there a fight?" 

"Yes." Lance paused, then nodded, saying again, "Yes." 

I felt sick. "He started it, didn't he?" 

Lance nodded again after a while, "Yes, he did." 

"Why?" 

"I...I don't know." 

I remembered him teasing some kids at school. I remembered him looking at me and saying, 'Wouldn't it be funny if they tried to get revenge?' I hadn't thought it would be funny at all. I remembered him provoking Lance, and me, and Freddy, like he needed some reaction to prove his existence. 

"I need to talk to him," I said, even though I was aware of Lance looking like he was about to hit something. "Pietro. Can we go talk to him, yo?" 

"Not yet," I think it was Jean who said it, "But in an hour or so you can." 

I didn't reply. Instead, I looked at Lance looking out the window. Then I leaned back against the chair, and stared at the floor. 

~tbc~ 


	6. Starlit Eyes

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 6/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Oh yeah, and SOME SLASHY HINTS between Lance and Pietro. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

I didn't want to go see Freddy when the doctor came and told us that we could go visit him. Lance went, though. I think he wanted to clear some stuff up, some stuff about how we never believed that he took drugs even though they were in his system. Someone probably spiked his drink...I know that lots of shit can get dumped in the drinks at the fast food place he works at. 

Instead, I hung around with just Summers and Jean, waiting to go see Pietro. I needed to know why. I needed to know that he was going to be okay. What I didn't need was to know for sure that it really _was_ a lie that Freddy wasn't alright. I think Lance understood, because he tousled my hair and told me to go get something to eat. Jean offered, too, but by then, I had begun feeling like I never needed to eat again. 

She tried to make small talk, but I wasn't very cooperative. I think it was starting to grate on Summers' nerves, but I don't really care. Fifteen minutes after Lance disappeared into Freddy's hospital room, I heard someone down the hallway, someone saying something about how much blood there had been. 

Daniels. Earlier, Jean had said...no, it had been Summers. Summers had said that Daniels had been the one to find Pietro, hadn't he? 

"Man, Tolensky--is he alright? Where is he?" He was standing there, his weather witch aunt at his heels, looking so fucking concerned and so fucking shook up. 

"Evan," Summers stood up and glanced only briefly at me, "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Daniels pushed past him and stopped in front of me, his eyes wide and needing to know. 

"Is he alright?" he repeated like I was stupid and didn't hear him the first time. "I found him in the bushes," He began when I still didn't respond, his words stammered like he was hurrying to explain. 

"He--God, there was so much blood," Daniels was shaking now, shaking and half-leaning on his oh-so-concerned aunt. Maybe I should've said something but I hated them all for some reason or other. They were invaders; invaders in our world, just like the hurt and pain were invaders. 

"Did you see who did it?" Lance asked, having caught the tail end of Daniels' sentence. He closed the hospital door behind him quietly and walked down the hall to where we were. 

"No," Daniels shook his head, his hands clenched tightly, "I think I came a while afterwards." 

The doctor came just then, and cast a glance around at us before asking Lance, who was closest, "Here for Pietro Maximoff?" 

"Yes," Lance hesitated then nodded, "He has no family, and we're the closest that there is." 

I stood up, and watched the doctor, telling myself that Pietro was alright. 

"He's lost a lot of blood and has had some spinal damage," the doctor said. The tag on his breast pocket said his name but it took too much energy to concentrate on the little letters to make it out. "and we don't know if he's going to make it." 

He paused, then asked, "Would you like to go see him? He's awake and asking for a Lance Alvers and Todd Tolensky." 

"That's us," Lance said quietly. "Todd?" He turned toward me slightly. 

I didn't say anything but took a step toward Lance and the clad in white doctor. The doctor nodded to us and looked around at the X-geeks again before leading us down the corridor to another room with numbers that looked the same as all the other ones. 

"Five minutes," the doctor said, then left, like he didn't care whether or not we took five minutes or five hours. 

"You want to go in first?" Lance asked, even though I think he knew. 

"Yeah," I answered though it wasn't necessary. 

He opened the door for me, and I stepped inside, wondering why it was so dim. There was a bed near the door with no one in it, and beyond that was a curtain that was bunched up against the wall so I could see the other bed. Pietro was in it. 

"'etro?" 

I saw him raise his arm slightly, just bending it at the elbow. 

"Hey, Toddie," his voice was so soft, almost a whisper and just as smooth as it had always been. I walked toward him, afraid to make sound for some reason. Hospitals always put me on edge. 

"Are you guys going to go after the bastard who did this?" Pietro asked lightly, lying there with an IV in his arm and a fucking bandage on his cheek. 

"What do you think?" I returned, standing at the foot of his bed and not sure what to do with my hands. I stuck them in my jeans pockets. 

"Bang," Pietro smiled at me and I felt like a jackass. I'm not even sure why I did. He looked so small lying in the hospital bed with one of those hospital gowns on, his dove hair mussed up a little. Pietro'd always been willowy and there had always been something about him that made Lance want to protect him even more than me. I think it was how thin he was. 

"So...when are we 'bustin' out of this joint?'" he asked, teasing me about how I talked. "I still have to teach Freddy how to pick up chicks." 

I didn't say anything; just pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. The grin fell from his face almost immediately at my silence. 

"Todd? What happened?" 

"Freddy's okay," I said. Then, I shook my head, saying my next words without thinking at all, "No, he's not. He's stuck in some fucking coma down the hall from this room because of some bastard who spiked his drink." 

Pietro didn't say anything, just stared at me with this sort of heartbreaking look in his glossy cerulean eyes. His pupils looked so big; like he had to pull in as much light and truth as he could to fill his empty soul inside. His eyes? 

"Pietro?" I stood up, took a few steps toward the foot of his bed, then hopped back silently toward the chair and sat down. He turned his head toward the foot of the bed and said softly, 

"Freddy's in a _coma_?" 

I don't know why I expected him to make everything seem like it wasn't real. He didn't. Instead...he laid there, addressing the emptiness in front of him like I was there. 

I felt sick to my stomach. 

"Pietro..." his head whipped around and he stared at where I was with his sightless eyes, "Pietro, you can't see, can you?" 

He bit his lip, like he was trying to keep in screams. His shoulders gave this strange little jerk, like he was about to cry even though his face was dry. Then he smiled. 

"My father left me..." Pietro said, like I had never said anything, like I was never there. 

"My father left me...and he was never even here." I nodded, even though he couldn't see it and if he could, he probably wouldn't care. 

"He was my _father_, you know? He was supposed to give a damn..." 

Pietro shifted, like a restless puppet with the IV line a string playing God, his arm lifeless, stationary. 

"He was supposed to _care_. But he never did...he was so obsessed with being a father to the world...this whole goddamn world. He never took the time, you know?" I couldn't say anything, so I nodded again--nodded into the darkness. 

"I would've done _anything._" 

Pietro was silent for a moment, then he said quietly, "I sold my soul, Todd...I sold my _soul_ just to hear him say 'good job.' Mystique was Wagner's mother, you know?" 

He laughed, a brittle sound that sounded too forced. 

"I sold my soul, ambushing Mystique's only chance to meet up with Wagner and tell him that she loved him...I _sold my soul._" 

Pietro let his head fall back, his too-wide, too-blue eyes staring at the ceiling, his neck a slender pale column moving only when he gulped in deep breaths of air, filling his narrow chest. There was more silence, then Pietro whispered, 

"And he said 'good job...'" 

He turned his face slightly, pressing his cheek into the pillow, spots of wetness on the crisp white fabric. 

"...you know?" 

I didn't know. But I nodded anyway. 

We didn't say anything for the longest time, then I stood up, the click of the door opening echoing in my ears. 

"Todd," Lance called. 

I walked out the door and stood outside, staring into the darkness through the window. I watched Lance sit down on the bed beside Pietro. I watched him hold Pietro's hand and kiss the tears there. I watched him hold Pietro... 

And I watched them cry. 

~tbc~ 


	7. This I Hate

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 7/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: PG-13~R(in later chapters) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Sheesh. All this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

I headed down the hallway and instantly was met by Daniels and some of the other X-geeks. Rogue was skulking behind Summers and Jean was standing, hands clasped in concern. I was glad; I don't think I was up for speaking to her again. 

"How is he? Is he okay?" Daniels asked. Behind him, his aunt looked somewhat worried. 

Go ahead, I told them silently, turning to stare at Jean, _worry_. 

The redhead flinched and sat back down, looking hurt. 

"He's _fine_," I said, making myself smile even though it hurt my cheeks. 

"No, he's not," Jean interrupted Daniels' relieved sigh, "I know he's not." 

"Get the hell out of my head," I snapped, angry and on the edge. I didn't want to deal with this; I _couldn't_ deal with all of this. Fucking telepaths trying to be fucking heroes, evil bastards jading us all by spiking drinks with ecstasial poison... 

Damn them...Damn them all, I thought viciously. _This_ was the world that I've been trying to get away from. _This_ was the world that Xavier and my parents rejected me into. _This_ was the world that tore apart my family, my fuckin' life. 

I _hate_ this world. 

"We have a right to know, young Tolensky," Storm said, her hands on Daniels' shoulders. 

"Like hell," I retorted, feeling strung up, my hands clenching so tightly I could feel the liquid warmth of blood on my fingertips. 

"Like hell nothing," Summers growled back, his shades practically glowing with anger, "Who do you think is paying for all this?" 

I felt cold. 

"It's not like we _wanted_ your help," I yelled back. My voice sounded shrill, even to my own ears, and I wondered that if I continued, it would actually snap in half. 

"From what we've heard, _you're_ the ones who asked for it," Summers replied, ice in his voice. 

"Where was your help when I did?!" 

There was silence. 

Then I realized that he meant 'you' as in 'all of you.' I took 'you' to mean just...me. 

Maybe I was bitter. Maybe I was beyond upset with the image of Pietro leaning his head against Lance's chest, his shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Maybe I just needed to stop keeping it in. 

"You think you're doing us all a favor, don't you," I don't know if I shouted or if I whispered. 

"You think you're all high and mighty, and that we're the 'bad guys.' You think that we're _scum_ because it's easier to; because you _never took the time_ to think otherwise." 

I smiled and continued when Jean opened her mouth to say something, "Don't try to deny it, I know you do. You look down on us. You just automatically assume we're up to no good..." 

For once, I was staring them down from some invisible pedestal that was helluva higher than theirs. 

"You just _assume_." 

I paused. 

"I hate you all," I said, and didn't know if I meant it until I kept going, "I hate you all...because you're just like all of _them_. Society." 

I almost started laughing, "You kick us down and don't care about our story...well..." 

I backed up and grabbed the doorknob of a door just like every other one, "what do you think now?" 

I yanked at the doorknob, then twisted it and shove the door open, kicking it shut behind me. 

Then, I turned, my breath still coming ragged, and stared at Freddy's unmoving figure in the heavy darkness. 

~tbc~ 

(A/N: Yep...another short one.) 


	8. Shadows in the Dark

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 8/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Sheesh. All this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

I saw him. I saw him, lying there on the bed...lying still, like an unmoving boulder, black against the pale light coming from the curtained windows. His silhouette reminded me of shadows, the sort of shadows that you're not sure if you're seeing or not. The sort of shadows where you're almost _afraid_ to creep closer, to get a better look. The sort of shadows that Freddy should never be. 

"Freddy..." I took a step toward him, scared of all the machines that surrounded him like ladies in waiting. He didn't answer, even though I half-expected him to. 

Sitting down beside him on a plastic streamlined chair, I stared and for once, wasn't sure what to say to him. 

"Freddy...God, who did this?" I didn't know if I wanted an answer. I knew I wouldn't get one. 

The clock on the wall ticked quietly for a few moments. I could hear the X-geeks' voices outside the door, could hear Xavier say something no doubt wise and pragmatic. 

"We're going to miss ya, you know..." I said finally, "and we'll be waiting for ya to get better." 

'Waiting for you to get better.' I repeated to myself after I had spoken and the words had been sucked up by the suffocating black silence. 

I fiddled with the corner of the sheet, staring down at my hands. When I looked back up at Freddy, I almost expected him to be gazing at me expectantly, waiting for me to say what I needed to say. All of a sudden, I found myself telling him everything--telling him about Pietro, about the X-men, about how much it _hurt_ not knowing who did all this, why they did it, how they could. I hated myself then. 

Freddy was lying there, in a coma, and all I could do was tell him how shitty _my_ life was. I tried reaching for his hand and found my own barred by some invisible barrier. God, I hated myself. 

"Freddy...Freddy, man, come back. We need you, yo," my voice broke and I felt something wet and salty near the corner of my mouth. 

"_I_ need you. W-We can't just let our family fuckin' _fall apart_ like this! We...we can't." 

I stopped talking because I ran out of words and just buried my head in the clinical cool white sheets that Freddy's arm was swathed in. It didn't smell like home or comfort. It smelled too clean, too distant. 

It smelled like death. 

"Todd." Several minutes passed before I actually realized that someone had said my name. I half-turned and looked at the doorway, looked at Lance, dark against the terrible brightness of the hallway. It looked like he was boxed in by some white rectangle of light, and I felt that it was so ironic. _So horribly ironic_. 

"Todd," he repeated, and I turned back to Freddy, staring at the wet splotches on the fabric of his hospital-issued blankets. 

"I made them all wet," I said, fingering the sheets. 

"It's okay," Lance replied, "Come on. The doctor says that we need to let him get some rest." 

"He's resting," I whispered back, "He's resting and he ain't coming back." 

Lance didn't say anything. I think he realized that my dream had been shattered at that point. I think he realized that, no matter how fucked up I had been from reading all those books, I was back in reality with all the rest of them. I think he realized...that I had grown up even more all of sudden. 

And I think he regretted it. 

"Let's go," he said, even though I think he wanted to stay with Pietro some more. Pietro was even more fucked up than I was, and we both knew it. 

"What about the X-geeks?" I asked, not moving from my seat. I didn't feel up to talking to anyone, especially not people of the high-class 'Xavier's lap dogs' variety. The fact that I felt like a total jackass for earlier didn't help either. 

Lance gave me a crooked smile before his expression soured slightly, "They left. Except for...uh, Rogue and Summers." 

Great. The two people who I didn't want to see most of al had to stay and play guilty. 

"I yelled at them," I said, looking at my feet. Lance nodded, "Yeah, I heard." 

"I didn't mean to." 

"It's okay." Lance was staring off into the darkness, probably deep in thought. He paused, then he repeated, "It's okay. Now, c'mon. Let's go." 

I stood up and looked at him leaning against the doorjamb, haloed by light like some tired, fallen angel. Then I nodded, and tried to believe him, but somehow...somehow, it wasn't the same. 

~tbc~ 


	9. Chronic Anger~namely hurt

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 9/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Sheesh. All this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T And yes, they live in a neighborhood now. Just because. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

When we got home, the neighborhood was quiet, and unnaturally so. From the day that I moved in on, I could always identify where I was because of the noises--souped-up rickety cars zooming by scattering litter everywhere, punk rock blaring and battling it out with hip hop and rap, and a thousand other stagnant sounds lurking in the background. Now after the hospital, it just wasn't like that anymore; there was a dark silence cast over our entire house. 

The car ride home had been one of the most uncomfortable things I have had to experience. I felt a certain sense of detachment that was either brought about by my unusual emotional outburst with the X-geeks or the whole harrowing ordeal. I began to think. 

Why did we call them 'X-geeks' anyway? Anymore, in any case. It wasn't like we were still fighting or anything. Maybe it was like a habit...something that we're so used to saying that it just rolls off our tongues. Or maybe we were just lashing out at them. 

Lance didn't attempt any conversation in the car and I didn't press for any vocal needs. But when we reached home and were sitting in our kitchen eating cold ramen noodles, I asked, 

"Why do we hate them?" 

An hour ago, I had the answer. Now I wasn't sure that was the whole reason. 

Lance put down his Styrofoam cup, now empty, and looked at me for a while, as if he were trying to figure out why I was asking. 

"I don't think it's really 'hate,'" he replied slowly after a few moments. 

"Are we jealous?" 

I don't think he could've looked much older than he looked just then. 

"No, we're not jealous." 

"Then why?" 

I felt bad for pushing him, but I had to know. Just like I had to know why I felt bad for telling them to fuck off, why I felt guilty for all the charades and pretend; why I felt _hurt_ by them. 

Lance didn't say anything for several minutes, then he stood, deliberately, 

"Go to sleep, Todd." 

I left the table and started up the stairs, too tired to rebel; too weary to say anything else. When I reached the top, I paused, hearing Lance say softly, 

"Because they're just like us..." 

I turned to listen. 

"And they don't think it. They're just the same as we are...and they think they're so damn better." 

I waited to see if he would say more, but he was silent. Then, I crept up to my room, and fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately after I got into bed. 

  


The next morning I woke up to the sound of angry voices. 

"What the hell do you want?" 

I saw Summers and Rogue, standing on the other side of the front door. Lance was blocking their way and wielding the business end of the doorknob, ready to close the door at any time. 

"Just to talk," Summers said back curtly. I could tell Lance was trying his patience. 

"Well, let's talk somewhere else," Lance persisted, "I'll meet you at the hospital later or whatever. Just get the hell out of our house." 

Protective, possessive Lance. I smiled. 

"Shut the door," I said, reaching the foot of the steps, "It's getting' really freakin' cold in here, yo." 

Lance turned to me, and I could see a faint smile in his eyes. 

"Todd," Rogue began and I looked over at her, the strained pretense of cheerfulness beginning to wear thing, 

"We jus' want t'talk." 

Lance scowled and glared at Summers, like it was all his fault. 

"It's getting cold," I repeated, standing beside Lance and wishing desperately for them to leave. 

Summers glowered back at Lance for a moment, then said coolly, "We'll call." 

"Ain't holding our breath," Lance sneered back before slamming the door, not bothering to wait until they had started to walk away. 

"Grab some toast," he said to me, obviously still pissed though he was trying to reign it in. 

"We're gonna go for a ride." 

I ate a meager breakfast on the way to the hospital. Lance hadn't had time to restock the fridge since yesterday had been grocery day so we were stuck with coffee, half a carton of orange juice, and some bread. The other reason was because I wasn't too sure my stomach could handle it, and I didn't want to go dry-heaving in the bathroom again. 

When we reached the hospital, Summers, Rogue, and their Professor was there--along with a teed-off looking Wolverine. 

"Professor Xavier," Lance sounded cordial, at least. 

"Lance. They haven't improved much, I'm afraid," the Professor said in greeting, his expression sad. 

I wanted to go see Freddy again, but no such luck. 

"Lance," Xavier actually had the balls to look anxious, worried, "I'm concerned about your financial status." 

I could feel the control and cold anger radiating off of Lance. 

"Why's that?" Lance asked, almost reaching dangerous but not quite. 

"What do you mean 'why?'" Summers burst in, incredulous, "You live in a dump!" 

"Scott," Rogue was looking at me while she spoke, "Stop--" 

"Save it," I said, surprising even myself. 

"Maybe we do live in a dump." 

"Maybe it doesn't matter," Lance was staring at me. "Todd, why...why don't you go check up on 'etro?" 

Of course he didn't rag on me. Not in front of the _X-men_. 

"We'll go together, yo," I replied, feeling like I was about to fall somewhere and lose control fast. 

"'cause we have to talk about our _financial status_." 

"Hey, you'd better show some respect," the guy with the claws--which were hidden at the moment--growled, looking more and more pissed. 

"What," I cried, something inside me breaking in half, "or else you'll _kill_ me?!" 

Silence. 

"Well, go ahead! Doesn't matter to me, yo!" I looked at the X-men, once again horrified at the odd outspokenness that had overtaken me. Then I looked at Lance. 

He looked like he was about to be sick, a pallor on his face that rivaled any paleness I had ever seen him wear. God, I felt like a jackass. 

Mumbling some excuse or other, I pushed past them and headed for Pietro's room, feeling worse by the minute. 

I hate hospitals. They make me do things I wouldn't otherwise do. 

~tbc~ 


	10. That side of Me

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 10/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Sheesh. All this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

I know I should've gone to visit Freddy first, but I just couldn't bring myself to go into that darkened silent room. Maybe it was because I felt bad for saying horrible things like that; things that made Lance look like I had just undone all his hard work without giving a damn. Maybe it was because I just couldn't stand to have Freddy hear but not listen. Or maybe it was because I was a coward. 

Pietro would be awake. Pietro would talk. Pietro wouldn't leave me alone in the emptiness of my own thoughts... 

I felt so selfish. But part of me--the shameful part of me that I had buried away along with liquor-scented breath, tobacco-stained teeth, loving hands turned traitor--part of me wasn't willing to be strong like Lance needed to me, like he was trying to be. Part of me didn't want to talk about how sad it was that Pietro couldn't see. Part of me wanted to shrink into myself, to forget about everyone else's problems. 

That part of me was the part that I had been running from. 

Maybe it was because I had been trying to be selfless so the selfishness had had time to build up and create one huge paradoxal entity of greed and shameful self-absorbedness that was beginning to corrode at my soul. 

  


Or maybe it was just because I was scared. 

I reached Pietro's room and burst in, startling a wayward nurse whom had been busy ignoring Pietro's complaints concerning service. 

"'etro?" I called, still feeling too strange and self-involved to glance apologetically at the nurse, who left after probably giving me the mother of all nasty looks. 

"Hey, Todd." Pietro waved slightly, probably unsure of where I was. I glanced around before forcing myself to walk over to his bedside, squelching the urge to hop and cover more distance. 

"How are ya?" I tried to smile but I think it came over more like a trembling half-grin, half-grimace. Pietro didn't say anything for a moment; just tilted his head to the side and listened. Then, he asked, 

"Where's Lance?" 

I shrugged before I remembered what had happened. The memory of it raced through me like a landslide of ice in my veins, and I shoved it out of my mind even as I replied out loud, 

"He's dealin' with the X-freaks." 

The words didn't come out the way I intended and Pietro arched an eyebrow, his hands folded in his lap and countenance strangely calm. 

"'X-freaks?' What'd they do to piss you off?" he asked teasingly. 

I flushed uncomfortably, "I meant 'X-men,' yo." 

"I'd say it'd be safer to use the former around here," Pietro said almost lightly; the only sign of tension was the slight tightening of his clasped hands. 

I looked at him, and wondered where the hyperactive spazzmatic quasi-albino teen I knew had gone. He wasn't even flipping out about not being able to see. 

I guess that had been the straw that broke the camel's back. After all this time, Pietro must've run out of energy; run out of the emotional fuel that enabled him to make a big deal out of everything. It seemed as if the fight had left him, as if his soul was as vacant as his eyes--as if he were ready to take whatever the world dished out to him because it didn't matter anymore. 

Then I remembered saying the same thing... 

'What, or else you'll kill me? Go ahead! Doesn't matter to me...' 

God, I felt bad. 

"How's Freddy?" Pietro asked, his fingers now clenched around the bed sheets. 

"I don't know," I replied softly. My throat felt too tight and I still felt like shit for what I had said back in the hallway. 

"I came to visit you first." 

Pietro smiled sadly, his blue, blue eyes not-quite-staring at the wall, 

"You should go keep him company, Todd." 

I nodded, then said after a while, "Yeah. I guess." 

When he didn't say anything else, I stood up and went to exit the room. As I was leaving, I heard Pietro whisper, 

"Todd...you're a good kid, Todd. I'm glad we're in this together..." 

I walked down the hallway, my eyes on the floor. 

I've never felt worse in my entire life. 

~tbc~ 


	11. Pipedream Tears

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 11/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: For now, Todd's going to be narrating from his memories; so it's going to be...like...in the present. Kinda. Instead of all, 'I remember' unless he was remembering something at the time. Sheesh. All this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

Lance was standing there, next to Xavier and Summers and Rogue and Wolverine. I thought that he almost looked like fit in at that moment; his back straight, eyes devoid of the usual crackle of rebellious fire, hands at his sides in only slightly clenched fists. 

"Todd," he said when he saw me, his dark eyes widening slightly, "You okay?" 

Am I okay? I wanted to laugh. Lance was asking me this? _Lance_ was asking _me_ if I was alright? It seemed so terribly wrong. _I_ should be the one asking that, saying sorry, looking concerned. Instead, Lance stood there, next to Xavier and Summers and Rogue, with his soul in his eyes and apologies written blatantly on his face. 

I wanted to cry. I almost did. 

I think he realized it because he took a step away from them, back to me, Pietro, Freddy, us. 

"'etro wants you," I said. My voice must've been thick because the bleak turmoil in Lance's eyes seemed to intensify and I felt even worse. 

"I'm sorry," I choked out, then. I wanted to continue, to apologize for what an asshole I was for making him worry, but he just said, 

"Don't say 'sorry,'" 

Lance glanced back at the X-men, his eyes still unreadable. Or were they not? Maybe they were enigmatic chips of burnt sienna to them, but to me...when he turned back to me, I could see his soul bared. 

Suddenly I realized that he was so _young_. Only twenty. He should've been in college, should've been _somebody_, but life decided that he was going to be cast to the slums. Cast to a life looking after us. 

Then, I realized that Summers was twenty, too--Rogue was nineteen. 

"Why are you here?" I asked, blurting the question out as I was developing a bad habit of doing. 

Summers looked offended, like I had been demanding something that I had no right to ask, but before he could say something back or take my question the wrong way, Lance cut in, 

"Yeah, shouldn't you guys be at the university or wherever you go?" 

Rogue blinked, startled, and said uncertainly, "We're here for winter break..." 

Silence. 

Winter break. 

God, I wish I hadn't asked. 

_Winter break_. 

Christmas. Pietro. _Freddy_. 

I felt like I was going to be sick. 

Rogue paled as she realized what she had just said and was just about to apologize when Lance interrupted, his voice husky, "It's fine. Don't worry about it." 

He glanced to me, his expression now unreadable even to me, "Let's go, Todd." 

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it again when I couldn't think of anything. Turning away from the uncomfortable Summers and stricken Rogue, I turned and followed Lance down the hallway to Freddy's room. 

He opened the door and ushered me in, hesitating just outside of it. Drumming his fingers on the doorjamb a few times, Lance eyed me with concern, asking quietly, 

"You think you can handle this by yourself?" 

I nodded. 

Lance pushed away from the door, then, flicked on one of the lights. 

"I'll be just down the hall..." he lingered a little longer, his eyes caught on Freddy's unmoving figure. Then Lance tore himself away from the doorway and stumbled briefly before heading down to go see Pietro. 

I closed the door quietly behind him, and turned to stare at Freddy. My eyes stung as I looked at him, the soft beeping of terminal machines mimicking his sluggish heartbeats. 

"I've been an absolute jackass," I whispered sitting down next to him and picking up one of his hands with my own. My fingers were shaking badly and I tried to calm down, even as I continued out loud, unable to stop, 

"I-I yelled at the X-men...yelled at Rogue...I'm...I'm losing control, Freddy..." 

In my mind, I could see him nodding slightly, showing that he was listening. Turning to look at his face, all I saw was peace and stillness. 

"Freddy..." I clutched at the his arm, "Freddy, please...God, _please_ come back!" 

I don't know how long I sat there, but I think I began to cry. I couldn't feel it anymore; couldn't feel the tears...but when Lance shook me awake, I found my hands scattered with wetness. 

"C'mon, kid," he said, looking gentle for some reason, 

"Let's go home." 

So we did. But when I slid into my bed that night, I couldn't help but wonder: why didn't it feel like home anymore? 

~tbc~ 


	12. Under the Hill

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 12/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd speaks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. Anyways *coughs* 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

When they finally let Pietro back home, it had been about a week. We tried making some feeble conversation, but I guess he wasn't up to it because he barely spoke back. So we didn't talk at all. 

I think when Pietro came home, everyone just kinda meandered off into their own thoughts. We didn't talk anymore; we just thought. At least I did. The house was so suffocatingly silent, I just couldn't take it. 

A few days after Pietro came back, I remembered Fred's last name--just all of a sudden, out of the blue. I was pouring myself a glass of water at the time, I think, because when I realized what his name had been, I jolted a little and it spilled all over the place. 

Dukes. His last name had been Dukes. How could I have forgotten? No, I don't think I forgot. I think that maybe I just wanted to not recall it. We never referred to him as "Dukes"--not even Mr. Tough Guy Lance who always called us by our last names in public. He did before, anyway. He never does that anymore. He always comes to pick me up after school nowadays, too. 

Yes, just me. Not Pietro...Pietro doesn't go to school anymore. I get his homework for him at the end of the day usually and then after dinner at night, Lance goes over it with him. I think he reads to Pietro before bed. Pietro's always loved reading--maybe even more than me--because he can go at his own pace and zoom through the whole thing. 

Lance tries to read fast, but it's probably not the same. The other night, though, I heard Pietro tell him softly that he didn't have to go so quickly; to slow down. Either he felt bad for Lance, or the speedster's lost his thrill. God, I hope it's the former. 

Both Pietro and I feel bad for Lance every day now. It's no longer just a 'bad day at work.' It's like a perpetual month of 'bad days at work.' There's only eight days left before Christmas now, but Lance keeps working. It's practically the only thing he's got left now, I guess. Because high school let out, I usually hang around the hospital with Pietro, talking to Freddy, or just sitting together. Pietro's scary quiet, and not just some of the times. He's always quiet now. It's like when he lost his sight, he lost his voice, too. Lance and him, I hear them talking, but it's always in hushed whispers. I think Lance is the only one Pietro talks to anymore. They've always been close--best friends, even more like brothers than the rest of us. I think Lance is the one who got hurt the most when Pietro lost his vive. 

The X-men keep looking at me, keep shooting me these sympathetic glances in the hallways. Jean Grey's the worst, always trying to make small talk whenever she sees me downtown, as if all of a sudden we matter shit to her. Rogue's close after. I think she feels guilty, 'cause of what I said back at the hospital. Most of the time, I wish I hadn't said all that crap, because if I hadn't, she most likely would've left me the hell along. As of now, I'm actually the least pissed off at Scott Summers, since even if he does look at us with pity, you can't tell because of those freakin' glasses of his. 

No matter what, they just keep on trying to talk to me. Can't they get a clue? 

"Hey, Tolensky!" I looked over from where I was sitting by the window, staring out at the snow. I thought it might've been one of the senior girls, asking about Pietro again. Despite what rumor might have it, all the girls actually really liked him; he would have been real popular if it weren't for us. 

I saw the X-men sitting at a table like a friggin' clique, rolled my eyes, and ignored them. 

"Hey! _Tolensky_!" It was that blue-furred freak--Kurt Wagner--and Daniels. Jeez, I didn't have time for this shit. 

"What do you want?" I asked, walking toward them and plastering a scowl on my face. I was getting better at that; acting pissed off when I was just tired. 

Wagner looked contrite, and was glancing around furtively, as if he were afraid that someone would see us talking together. 

"Ve vere just vondering if...if, uh, you vould like to come by ze Institute for Christmas." 

What the hell? 

I stared at them, the words, "You've got to be kiddin', yo," coming out before I had time to really think them through. 

Wagner looked sheepish and Daniels seemed to take that as his cue to continue for his friend, "No, seriously, man...I mean, it's gotta suck wit-with what happened and all that..." he trailed off uncertainly, his words trickling into silence. 

I wanted to laugh. 'With what happened and all that?' All that...yeah, sure, _that_ made a lot of sense. 

"Listen," I said, making sure my voice was low, steady, "just 'cause shit happened to us doesn't make us a big, happy family, okay? I mean, thanks for paying and stuff, yo, but it doesn't mean we've gotta start being chummy." 

I tried to sneer but my throat closed up and my eyes started stinging. I prayed to the God that I had forgotten about for the longest time that I wasn't crying. 

"It's too late to start changin' your minds," I continued, not really seeing them at all, "and it ain't gonna happen." 

"Todd," Rogue was standing there behind Wagner, her eyes wide, hurt. 

"What do you want?" I demanded, my voice starting to sound thick even to my own ears. 

"Ah'm sorry," she said, but I shook my head. I had to get out of there before I broke down. 

"Tolensky, look, we..." Daniels started before he fumbled to a stop. I think I started to laugh, but it caught in my throat. They were looking at me, Wagner with this godawful look of sympathy and regret, Daniels with an expression that reeked of pity and awkwardness, and Rogue...Rogue, standing there with her lunch tray and book bag hanging off of one arm, her lips parted, her eyes shining with hurt and betrayal. Betrayal? What bullshit. 

"Fuck you," I hissed, then booked it out of there. I somehow I managed to make it home, and Lance was there, his arm around Pietro. Pietro was shaking, like he was crying or something. But Pietro didn't cry, did he? 

"Todd?" Lance asked, looking up when I slammed the front door. I leaned against it and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to hear Pietro's muffled sobs. 

"I'm skipping," I said dully, the knowledge that I had left before the day was half over seeping through the haze of anger, hysteria, and _hurt_ that was my mind. 

I saw Lance nod slightly in understanding, then I took the stairs three by three, reached my bedroom, and threw myself onto the bed. Vaguely, before I slipped into sleep, I remember thinking: You think _we_ betrayed _you_? You don't know anything at all. You don't know _me_ at all. No one does... 

  


  


When I woke up, it was around five pm and my head was pounding from sleeping too much. I could hear Lance moving around downstairs, and Pietro saying something indistinct. His voice is always thin nowadays; always lifeless and soft and hopeless. 

I felt like going to see Freddy--no, I _needed_ to go see Freddy. It was getting dark out, but I figured that it wouldn't matter. I knew the city well enough. 

I was halfway down the stairs when I heard the third voice, a voice that sounded familiar but didn't belong in our house. Lance replied, and he sounded angry, like he was about to throw something. 

"...just think about it, alright?" 

"There's nothing to think about, Summers. Get the hell out, okay? Thanks for asking," Lance practically spat out the 'thanks,' "but no thanks." 

So Summers was here again. I walked into the kitchen and saw him standing there, looking unbearably bright-colored against the pale run-down hues of our house. Summers looked so simply _wrong_ standing there. He seemed too substantial for the household of whispers that we had become; too life-like for the surreality of dreams that I had been trying to surround myself with. 

"Hey, Todd," Pietro murmured, his voice quiet like it always was. He could always tell when Lance or I entered the room, because the both of us had secretly come to the agreement that whenever we walked, we should try to make as much noise as possible. I tried to grin and looked at him. I could barely remember the boy who made up commercial jingles to bug us and zipped around too quickly, brimming with energy. 

"Hey," I replied, touching his shoulder briefly. A fleeting smile flickered on his lips before it guttered out and he just stared at the floor with empty eyes again. Summers turned around at the sound of my voice, his clenched hands loosening slightly. 

"Hi," he said uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure whether or not I'd respond. I looked at him for a long time, trying to figure out what to make of him. Lance was facing away, angrily stirring something in a pot. 

"Hey," I said finally, sitting down on the kitchen stool beside Pietro. 

"What brings you here, Summers? That Christmas thing?" I felt a little bitter, and it must've come across, because Summers looked somewhat apologetic. 

"Well...yes," he looked reluctant to speak. "We just thought we should offer...--that is, I mean, it's not like we don't _want_ you guys there," Summers added quickly, coloring slightly as he realized how that must've come across. 

"It's just that--" 

"Save it, Summers," Lance was getting angrier by the second. "Now, you invitin' yourself over for dinner or are you going to wheel it out of here while you have the chance?" 

Before Summers could reply, Pietro said softly, "I'm tired." His head was pillowed on his arms, his shoulders bony and hunched. That seemed to settle it, because Summers heaved a sigh and glanced imploringly at Lance first then me before finally leaving. 

"Fuckin' bastard," Lance muttered before setting down the wooden spoon he had been using, wiping his palms on the sides of his jeans. His expression softened and he rubbed the back of Pietro's neck, "You okay there, kid?" 

Pietro made a vague sound, pressing his forehead more into his arms. Lance hesitated, then looked at me, "I was making spaghetti. Think you can finish up?" 

I nodded, and Lance pulled Pietro up by the arm, helping him toward the stairs. It was odd. Sometimes Pietro wanted us to help him; needed us to be there. Other times, he was fiercely independent, determined to do things on his own despite his...condition. Suddenly, I didn't want to think about it anymore, and picked up the spoon that Lance had put aside. 

  


  


Dinner was quiet, dead quiet. Pietro was sleeping, so it was just the two of us; Lance and me. We kept it to monotone questions and one-word answers, not because we were angry or uncomfortable, but because there didn't seem to be anything worth talking about. About halfway through, there was the creak of stairs, and Lance stood up, looking at the stairway. 

"Pietro?" 

Pietro tilted his head toward us, his expression frighteningly blank. He took a few more steps down, then let go of the banister. Before either Lance or I could speak, he was tumbling forward. I saw Lance dart towards him, trying to catch him, but he was too late--or at least he must've been, because all I heard was a sickening thud and the crack of bones. 

_Oh God,_ I remember thinking, my eyes stinging again, and my ears ringing with Lance's shouts as I picked up the phone to dial 911, _Oh _God,_ when is it going to end?_

~tbc~ 


	13. Knocked Down Again

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 13/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

  
And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd speaks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o 

  
By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. Anyways *coughs* 

IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


"blah." People speak 

-- uh...scene switch 

  


  


-- 

He nearly broke his neck. The doctors told us that we were lucky it was only sprained. 

'Lucky' isn't exactly the word I'd use. 

The minute Pietro got wheeled into the emergency room, the X-men were headed down the hall toward us, their ever-fucking benevolent Professor in the lead. 

"What happened?" he asked, worried. 

"He fell," Lance was staring at the floor. Looking at him, I suddenly realized that there was _guilt_ in his eyes. He blamed himself...I frowned. That didn't make any sense. But then I remembered what he had told me once; 'Hey, kid, I'm leader. You guys follow me and make damn fools of yourselves because of it. But I'm the leader, y'know? So don't bother trying to bring that on yourself-everything's my fault anyway.' 

He'd been grinning that happy-go-lucky smile, the one that made it hard to take him seriously. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized what had been there all along: even if he tried to look like he didn't mean it, he did. Maybe he just needed to _say_ it, to get it off his chest even though no one believed him. Or maybe he wanted us to prove him wrong. 

'He coulda made it to college,' I remembered Freddy saying in that slow, thoughtful way of his, 'He coulda made it if he had the money; if he didn't have us. He coulda made it.' 

The funny thing is that I don't think Lance regretted it. I don't think he ever really outweighed his own dreams over ours. Maybe he thought about it. Maybe he even fantasized about not doing low-paid grunt work. But he never left us...never, ever, ever. (A/N: ...STNH. *sobs*) 

"Lance," I don't know if I interrupted them or not. All I knew was that he was standing there, talking quietly, eyes flickering silently, posture almost broken in of its pride. 

"Lance, it's not your fault." 

It was frighteningly quiet, then he turned toward me. God, I thought I'd burn up under the dark heat of his gaze. 

"Yes, it is," he said after a moment, his voice low and sad, "It always is." 

He turned away again and I was suddenly afraid that he'd leave; that he'd walk away with Summers and his too-bright glasses, Jean with her too-red lips, Wagner and his delirious shyness--all of them and none of us. 

'He coulda made it. 

"Lance," I called and I must've sounded as desperate as I felt because he stopped. 

"Lance, what if he _dies_?" 

At that point, I forgot about the X-men, about school and Christmas and the rest of the world. _My_ world was the hospital with dark-eyed heroes from the wrong side of the tracks; pale, thin boys with empty eyes even thought hey used to smile, to laugh; quiet giants, their ponderous words silenced, their minds slowed to nothingness. My world was gingersnap cookies, sugarspun snowflakes, multicolored globes on top of Christmas trees and blind boys lying underneath staring into the lights. My world was tears, watching invincible racing speed demons crumble in aching work-sore arms, crying like they've never cried before; silent, quiet, noiseless kitchens waiting for laughter and friendly banter that would never come. 

"What if _I_ die?" I asked, my lips numb, almost unmoving. I think the Professor said something that was supposed to be comforting, but I couldn't hear him. 

"What if...What if Freddy never wakes up?" 

Lance looked like he couldn't breathe, and part of me wanted to cry for hurting the only person close to me that was still a_live_. I opened my mouth to say something, but then abruptly I was sobbing, the ground closer to me than I remembered. Lance was holding me, trying to get me to calm down, and I felt safe all of sudden--safe and all right and peaceful. 

Was this how Pietro felt? 

At that thought, I felt a nauseating grief-born dizziness swarm over me again. I could hear Lance say something and someone reply, then everything shuttered into blackness. 

  


  


I woke up in a hospital bed in a room that was pretty much empty. Rogue was there, sitting beside my bed and flipping through an old copy of Reader's Digest. She paused when she saw me awake. 

"Hey." Rogue looked uncomfortable, discomfited. 

"Hey," I replied, staring out the window; avoiding her eyes. I hesitated, then asked tentatively, 

"What happened?" 

"You blacked out," Rogue carefully set aside the magazine and leaned forward, still looking extremely awkward in the worn plastic chair. 

"Lance an' the Professor got this room fer ya..." 

"I'm okay," I said, trying not to sound too upset. 

"You were hyperventilatin'," I could tell that she was attempting to not look exasperated and I grinned suddenly, feeling familiar with the scene. 

"Yeah, so?" 

Rogue looked like she was easing up a little. 

"So, you'd better stay in bed, y'know?" 

"Says who?" 

"Who d'ya think?" Rogue retorted, getting huffy but still smiling. 

"Maybe you?" I feigned innocence. 

"Ah'd think so, pondrat." 

We grinned at each other and I felt the most comfortable I'd been for the first time in days. Immediately afterward I felt guilty. 

"Where's Lance?" I asked after a moment. 

"Ah think he went t'check up on Fred." 

She hesitated, as if not sure whether or not to continue. 

"...and Pietro?" I made her job a little easier even though it hurt like hell to say his name. 

"We don't know yet," Rogue said softly. 

When I didn't say anything, she reached forward and covered my hand with hers. The gloves she was wearing felt slick and slightly cool; unlike any other material I had ever felt before. 

"Ah'm sorry, Todd." 

I looked up and met her gaze, then smiled tiredly, feeling relieved even with all the guilt and hurt. I knew that her apology was for so much more. 

  


  


I talked with Rogue for a while before Lance arrived. The instant Lance came in, Rogue stopped talking, as if someone flipped a switch. I guess she either felt bad or was still pissed and lance was probably pissed but not at Rogue. My little epiphany earlier about his whole self-blame, the way he took his responsibilities, the way he spoke really shed some light on a lot of things. 

"Ah'd better get goin'," Rogue said to me, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. "See y'around, Todd." 

"'later," I replied, not really feeling anything beyond a flicker of disappointment. I had retreated back into my numbed emotionless shell, preparing myself for any news Lance might have. 

Lance watched Rogue go, his eyes unreadable. Then, as she was about to close the door behind her, he called out, "Hey--Rogue." 

She turned back, looking about as surprised as I felt at that. 

"Yeah?" 

A crooked grin, the one that made you think he was trying to keep from laughing out loud, though not in a bad way, "It's cool." 

Rogue paused, then smiled. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, her eyes teary. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick, the 'h' almost incoherent; "Thanks." 

Rogue quietly clicked the door shut, then left. I looked at Lance, unsure why he had done all that. 

"That was nice of you, yo," I said finally. He faced me, a tired smile of exhaustion on his face. Lance just nodded slightly in response to my remark, then sat down heavily beside my bed in the chair that Rogue had been using. Leaning back slightly, he asked in a soft voice, "How're you doin'?" 

"I'm fine," I assured him, "How's 'etro?" 

Lance was silent, then he rubbed his hands over his face, heaving a sigh. I felt cold all of a sudden. 

"What happened?" 

"He's gonna be okay," Lance replied after a minute. I was quiet, watching him; watching the play of light in his eyes, then I whispered, 

"That's not all is it?" 

I almost didn't want him to answer me. 

I wanted him to smile and say, 'Yup, that's all,' and ruffle my hair, chuckling at how silly and paranoid I was. But he didn't. I wanted him to tell me that we could go home; that Freddy was going to be okay, too. But he didn't. 

Lance didn't lie. 

"They think...they think that he might be partially paralyzed at the worst. Or--at least--be a little weak; maybe have problems breathing properly." 

"Breathing," I repeated, not understanding what breathing had to do with everything. 

Lance was staring hard at the floor. 

"When he...got hurt, the nerves at the top of his spine started causing his muscles to seize up," he said finally, coming straightforward like he knew I'd want him to do. 

"His lungs got fucked up." 

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say or what to think. Neither of us spoke for a while and the silence soaked into the room, smothering my thoughts. Suddenly, it hurt to keep my eyes open, to remember anything that happened. Lance must've noticed how tired I was because he stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

"Get some rest," he said, his voice still oddly quiet, gentle. 

I didn't say anything and I don't remember going to sleep, but I must've because everything stopped for a few moments. It felt like I was simply, harmlessly blinking, even though I knew that I wasn't. But when I opened my eyes again, the first thing I saw was Scott Summers, standing above me, pale and grim, the words 'I'm sorry' on his lips... 

  


  


  


~tbc~ 


	14. Chthonic Christmas

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 14/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

  


Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

  
And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd speaks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o 

  
By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. Anyways *coughs* 

IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

  


Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

  


  


-- 

Pietro was sitting next to me, his eyes unseeing as he stared forward at nothing. A few minutes ago, Lance had retreated into the kitchen to make a phone call and so had left the two of us alone with Rogue and Summers. I couldn't think of anything; I didn't know what to say. Even with the tension between Rogue and I resolved there was a livewire barrier between us that kept us from speaking with another of either side present. I hated how we had 'sides.' Us versus them. 'Because they think they're so damn better,' I remembered Lance telling me. But even then, there had been a quiet resignation in his voice--the sort of aged tiredness that one found in retired veterans of war. It didn't make sense. No--it _does_ make sense...but it's not fair. 

After a moment, Summers cleared his throat, lifting his head slightly. Always the diplomat. I would've felt some measure of amused disgust, but I couldn't muster the energy it would've taken. 

"I'm sorry..." he hesitated before continuing tentatively, "We...we could help with the funeral arrangements..." 

I felt Pietro groping for my hand and I gave him a reassuring squeeze, wondering when the roles had switched and when _I_ had become the protector. Then I remember starless eyes, and my thoughts blanked in a futile attempt to shield the pain. I didn't know how to respond to Summers' overbearingly generous offer, so I just stared at the floor. 

"You don't have to," Lance had come back in, "we'll take care of it." 

"Alvers," Summers looked reluctant, "you guys don't have to do this alone." 

Lance rubbed at his temples, too tired to get angry. 

"We'll talk," he relented finally after a few moments of weary contemplation. 

"Todd, you and Pietro go get some shut-eye, okay?" 

I nodded and stood up, my fingers still clenched around the sleeve of Pietro's shirt. We headed upstairs and parted ways in the hall. I didn't remember saying anything and I think Pietro wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. 

Then I saw the room next to mine. 

_Freddy,_ I thought, starting to feel nauseous. I found myself on the floor, once again not remembering how I got there, my head pounding. My chest hurt; it was painful to breathe--painful to think, even. 

Freddy was _dead_. 

Summers had been there, looking sad, regretful; 'I'm sorry, but something's happened. Fred...Fred--he flat-lined. About fifteen minutes ago. I'm sorry...' 

'I'm sorry.' 

I felt someone's arm curling about my back, a broken Southern drawl in my ear, tears that weren't mine trickling on my skin. 

"C'mon, Todd," Rogue said, her voice thick as she helped me up, "You should get some rest..." 

"Freddy," I replied blindly, reaching for someone who wasn't there, "_Freddy_--where--?" 

"C'mon," Rogue repeated, nudging my door open. I collapsed in my bed and turned away from her, burying my face in the pillow. She said something else, though I didn't hear, before she left. I stared at the shadows for a while, watching the distorted patch of black that was my bookend--the smiling, cheerful frog carved from clay and out of friendship; tender, brotherly kindness--love. Then, I closed my eyes, falling asleep as I tried harder than anything to pretend that everyone was okay. 

  


  


"Are we going?" Pietro's voice was low and he gulped some water down as soon as he finished speaking from his mottled gray sports cup. He barely talked anymore, because of his lungs and numerous other reasons. 

"I guess," Lance kept his eyes on the road. It was two days before Christmas and we still hadn't RSVPed to the X-men's offer. Or maybe Lance had but didn't get the chance to tell us. I don't think he'd do something like that, though. 

Yesterday had been Freddy's funeral. It had seemed so unreal--I hadn't known what to do. Pietro had spent the whole thing crying silently into Lance's shoulder. I guess that he really needs Lance nowadays. But that's okay; he can talk to Lance. I wouldn't know what to say anymore. 

I read more and more now; I spent the last three days locked in my room reading, save for when Lance pounds on the door and tells me to come eat. I think he'd yell at me like he used to, but he's just been too tired lately. We all have been. 

Summers comes by a lot, almost as much as Rogue. The Professor probably sent him on some mission of goodwill to make sure we didn't feel forgotten. I'd get mad at him, but I've got better things to do. I've got to finish reading the new Cynthia Voigt book I just got the other day. I've got to go finish pretending. 

  


  


It's Christmas Day. Pietro has been getting a little better; he's begun to talk to me, too, instead of just Lance. All in that whisper-quiet voice, of course. Sometimes, I Can barely hear him. Maybe listening to loud music really _did_ make me go deaf. Or maybe Pietro really is fading like he looks like he is. 

Lance got the two of us presents even though he wouldn't let us get him anything. 'Selfless bastard,' Pietro had whispered fondly, his cerulean eyes glowing as he turned the crystal figurine he had gotten in his hands with careful fingers. 'That selfless, selfless bastard.' 

He had given me a journal. It was leather-bound and kind of worn, but real nice nonetheless. When I asked him what I was supposed to write in it, he just smiled vaguely and said, 'I'm sure you'll think of something.' 

  


  


It was around four in the afternoon when Summers called. I could tell it was him because Lance sounded different when he picked the phone up. He always sounds different when he talks to Summers, though in what way I can't really tell. 

"No, we'll drive ourselves," Lance said stiffly into the receiver before nodding curtly and muttering a good-bye. 

"Dinner's at six," he said quietly. 

"What're we going to wear?" Pietro asked in return, a frown creasing his brow. No doubt he was thinking about Daniels. I smiled; at least he was being a _little_ more superficial--like he used to. It was comforting. 

"Normal stuff," Lance was expressionless. 

"They ain't worth dressing up for," I added with what I hoped was nonchalance. 

Pietro nodded after a moment, "Yeah, I guess." 

  


  


We got there at five fifty-seven and sat in front of the opened gat in our dust-beaten jeep. Lance looked back at me and Pietro, asking, 

"You guys want to do this?" 

"Are we sure?" Pietro echoed the question with few words, a wan smile on his lips, "Sure, why not?" 

"Might as well," I agreed even though I didn't want to go at all. I wanted to go back home and stare at the shadows on the wall. I wanted to go back home and read. 

It was awkward inside. I especially didn't like hanging around with that Storm chick. Maybe it was because she nearly fried me last time we met. Or maybe it was because she looked at me with so much pity in her eyes. Pity is the worst; especially self-pity. On the streets, self-pity can kill. 

I ignored most of the dinner conversation. None of it really mattered to me. Jean Grey tried to talk to me again but I didn't say anything, really. I guess I could've been more helpful...but it's not like I care. 

I went out on the balcony after dinner. Being inside was making me sick; it was too warm. After a little while, Pietro followed after me, his footing unsure. 

"Hey, there, Toddie," his voice was smooth even now, though as silk-soft as had become habitual, "how's it hangin'?" 

"I hate it here," I said truthfully. 

"Yeah, me, too," Pietro sighed, his breath freezing in the air in a puff of translucent white before fading. I watched it vanish, then turned away, nearly missing his next words; 

"But Lance was smart to bring us here." 

He must've somehow sensed I didn't understand what he meant because he smiled faintly and clarified with trembling eyes, twin orbs of cobalt blue still expressive even without sight, 

"It'd hurt too much to have Christmas at home." 

"Oh." I said, not knowing what else to say. What else _could_ you say in the stark face of truth? 

Pietro nodded and we stood in silence, each shivering and lost in thought. 

"Are there any stars out tonight, Toddie?" Pietro asked after a moment. 

I looked up at the cloudy sky, black and stained with night. 

"Yeah," I lied. "lots of them." 

"Good," Pietro smiled, then paused. After a few more minutes, he whispered, 

"Merry fuckin' Christmas." 

  


  


~tbc~ 


	15. The Pendulum Swings

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 15/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd talks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o 

By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. It's haaappy. Anyways *coughs* 

IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ Brownie points to the people who figure out the whole symbolism with the little girl. 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

-- 

It's been four days since Christmas and things haven't been quite the same. One of the stranger things is that Lance disappears sometimes. Whenever I ask Pietro if he knew where Lance was going, he just smiles and jokes that he must've finally gotten a girlfriend. Then, he'd turn back to the radio and flip the volume up. Pietro listens to the radio lots nowadays...maybe he's trying to compensate for his eyes. I know I would. 

I wonder what Pietro thinks about. I mean, there's only so many things that you can think about...if I were him, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. Maybe that's been the difference between me and him all along. Or maybe that difference has just sprung up--only right around now. I don't know anymore; it takes too much energy to think. 

The library had a sale two days ago and I had spent about eight hours total just browsing through the books. I lose track of time in the library; it always seems like the world moves slower when I'm concentration on the words and stories in those old, dusty books. When I had stepped out of the library into the reflective winter sunlight, though, time sped up again. Things got confusing again--no longer black and white, like text and paper. I had seen a little girl in a worn beige sundress--or maybe it had really been white; just looked kind of tan against the bright, bright snow. She had been holding a battered hand basket, clutched tightly in her tiny hands. The basket had been filled with pastel yellow poppies, some of them wilting and almost dead, their fragile stems crushed by the weight of an occasional hand rummaging through, trying to find the prettiest. When I looked closer, I had realized that the little girl was blind. 

It reminded me of ourselves and the X-men--Fate thrusting her destructive hand into our midst and sheparding the 'best' away; kicking the rest of us down and leaving us to rot. I paid her a quarter for one of the pulpy poppies, purposely leaving the prettier ones, and she had smiled at me, saying in a light grateful voice, 'Thank you.' 

'Thank you.' 

I had nodded and left. The next day, when I went back out of curiosity--convincing myself that I was just going to see if the library was still selling books--she was gone. 

I hung around for a little bit, then went home. When I got back, Lance was talking on the phone, his eyes dark, worried. 

"What's wrong?" I asked and he jumped a little, the receiver finding itself cradled in his palm. 

"Who's that?" I looked at the phone and Lance followed my gaze, hesitating slightly before setting it down gingerly on the counter. 

"Pietro," Lance said, his eyes on the kitchen floor. 

I felt cold, dizzy; like I was about to faint. From the way he said it, I got the impression that he wasn't talking to Pietro. 

"What about Pietro?" No answer. 

I tried again, "What happened to him?" 

When Lance still didn't' reply, I grabbed the phone from the table, demanding loudly--or at least, I think I was loud; my voice was shaking so badly, and I could think straight--"Pietro?! Is that you?" 

There was silence on the other end of the line, then I heard a feeble, "I'm sorry. It's just me." 

Summers. 

Why was Lance talking to Summers? 

"H-has Lance told you yet?" 

"Told me what?" I forced myself to calm down. Lance refused to meet my eyes; he gazed out the window instead, his lips pressed tightly together, his face pale, almost wan-looking. 

"Maxi--Pietro," Summers sounded awkward, "he's...he's missing." 

I was quiet. I wanted to shout, to scream 'Where is he?!' I wanted to ask why the hell they hadn't gone looking for him yet, but all that came out was a soft "oh." I wanted to kick something, to run, to jump; _anything_ to get rid of the awful _helpless_ feeling inside me, but I found that I couldn't move; couldn't even flex my fingers around the cool plastic of the phone in my hand. 

Lance gently took the receiver from me and said something into it, though I didn't hear what. Then, he was leading me to the kitchen counter, carefully easing me onto the chair when I was still too shocked to comply with his efforts. 

"We're going to try to find him with Cerebro," Lance said quietly. 

_Cerebro_? 

I fought to breathe but it was as if the air had become water; a thick, sluggish liquid that my lungs refused to draw in. Part of me kept wondering continually, instinctively where Pietro was and the rest of my mind screamed back that he was gone. 

Gone. 

Gone, like Freddy and my mother and my father. 

Gone, like that pretty, blind girl-child on the corner selling worn yellow poppies. 

Gone, like my sense of self that I had tried to figure out but finally gave up on. 

Gone, gone, _gone_. 

I couldn't breathe. 

"Where'd he go?" I think I asked. I couldn't hear myself; my voice was so soft and my heartbeat so loud. 

"We don't know," Lance was looking at me with wide, dark eyes, "Todd, I--" 

"Is he with Freddy now?" I pressed on. My face felt too warm--wet--numb. 

Lance flinched at Freddy's name and he closed his eyes briefly before murmuring quietly, evenly, "No, he's not dead." 

Dead? Who was dead? _Dead_? 

Lance wasn't making any sense to me. 

There was the sound of a car door slamming outside and the slight crackling creak of the front door as someone forced it open. 

"Lance," Summers came in, looking as if he'd ran the whole way. 

"Todd--c'mon." 

Lance tried to help me up, but I couldn't move. It hurt to move. 

"Todd, let's go," I don't think I've ever heard Lance sound so pleading. 

"Come _on_." 

"Pietro," I said, and I was beginning to feel better. "We're gonna find Pietro." 

"Yeah," Lance had a strange look in his eyes. 

"Yeah, we're going to find him." 

  


  


  


  


I spaced out most of the car ride over to the Institute. All I remember thinking was, 'Man, this is a nice car.' It was. White leather, polished cherry red hood and sides, softly purring engine. Lance would've killed for a car like this. 

He would've. I don't think he cares much anymore, though. 

Then we were in a room; the living room, I think. Summers left us, muttering something about the Professor and Cerebro. I wondered why Summers cared. I wondered if I could go back home and do my homework. I wondered why I felt so empty. 

Looking at Lance, I realized that he looked so _old_. He had lost weight, too, and his clothes just didn't fit right. It made me think and wonder about some other things, as well--like how much I had missed n the past week or two or three because I hadn't been paying attention. I've lost track of time by this point. 

I wanted to ask Lance if he had been eating right, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. Which was okay, because around then, Lance started talking. 

"They're not going to find him with Cerebro," he said, his fingers curled into his palms as fists. 

"He's not going to _run_. He can't even _see_!" 

I think he would've sounded angry; frustrated, even, if he hadn't looked so devastated. 

"They can try, can't they?" I was afraid, suddenly; violently afraid--so afraid I almost began to shake. I had been doing that a lot lately--riding the 'roller coaster of emotion,' as they call it. 

"Of course they can try," Lance replied, something in his chestnut-colored eyes dark and off. 

"Of course they can." 

Jean Grey came in after a few moments, looking sympathetic and regretful, 

"The Professors trying to find him now, but we haven't come up with anything yet...I'm sorry." 

'I'm sorry.' I stared at her. 

'I'm sorry...' Just like what Summers said when he told me Freddy was gone. Just like now with me and Lance and Pietro somewhere else. 

'I'm sorry.' 

Lance looked over at me, hesitated, then said to Jean, "Let's go into the other room." 

I didn't know why he was leaving. I guess it was because he didn't think I could handle it. It was fine. I don't know if I could take it anyway. 

So, I sat there alone, and I thought. I thought and thought and began to think some more; thinking about what to think and running out of thoughts. 

I think I fell asleep at some point because one minute I was pondering about the significance of nothing in particular, then all of a sudden I was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. 

Gee, that's been happenin' to me an awful lot this month. 

I sat up, yanked back the covers of the bed, and toed my shoes on. Maybe I could find my way back down to the living room. I decided to cross my fingers and attempt it. 

Fortunately, before I doomed myself to an eternity of wandering the well-decorated halls of the mansion, Rogue showed up. She looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected me to be up, or even to see me. 

"Todd," she said, "how're ya doin'?" 

"I'm good." I replied. "Where's Lance?" 

"He's...he's out lookin' for Pietro wit'Scott." 

Oh. 

That's right...Pietro was gone. I had forgotten about that. No--I had _wanted_ to forget about it, but it didn't mean I had forgotten. 

"Did you find anything?" I asked, forcing calmness into my voice even though I was feeling anything but. 

"Not yet," Rogue said quietly, "Ah'm sorry." 

Instead of saying anything in response to that, I opted for inane trivial smalltalk. It seemed safer and it didn't hurt as much. 

"Why're you here?" 

"We're still off fer winter, 'member?" 

"Oh, yeah," I said, "Winter." 

When she didn't reply, I continued, "I really should finish my homework, yo." 

"Do you have a lot?" Rogue asked quietly, gazing at me, puzzled. 

"Naw," I looked at a portrait of a pond on the wall, "not that much." 

We didn't say anything. I didn't feel or think anything. For a while, it was as if I didn't exist. It's disturbing how comfortable that feeling was. Then, Rogue cleared her throat, looking awkward, 

"Are ya hungry?" 

"No," I said, "No, I'm not, yo." 

"Want somethin' t'drink?" 

"No," I repeated. More silence. Then, I asked, "Could we go downstairs?" 

"Sure," Rogue said so softly I barely heard her, "Okay, Todd." 

I followed her downstairs to the living room, beginning to feel uncomfortable and out of place. The house was so damn big--freaked me out to a certain point. I was also trying to ignore that both Pietro and Lance were somewhere else right around now. 

"Scott," Rogue smiled when she saw Summers sitting on the couch. He stood up, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his khakis, and looked somewhat nervous. 

"Hey," he said, then turned toward me, the overhead light glinting off his shades. 

"Um, Lance wants to talk to you." 

"Okay," I said because I couldn't say anything else, and he stepped to the side, pointing to another doorway. 

  


  


  


  


When I entered the dining room, I saw him sitting there, his forehead cradled in his hands. 

"Lance?" 

It was so quiet, I was almost afraid to breathe. Lance shifted slightly, drawing in a deep breath and dispersing it through his nose. Then, after a moment, he lifted his head, his eyes dark and pensive. 

"Lance, did you find 'tro?" I was starting to get scared again. Why wasn't he saying anything? 

Just as silently, Lance stood up and laid a hand fleetingly on my shoulder, Then, turning away, he walked outside. A feeling of icy dread settled in my stomach, but I couldn't help but feel as if he wanted me to go, too, and though my footing was unsure, I followed him anyway. 

~tbc~ 


	16. Lost and Found

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 16/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd talks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o 

By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. It's haaappy. Anyways *coughs* 

IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

-- 

"Did you find him?" 

Lance wasn't looking at me. Instead, he stood, staring across the moon-stained landscape. Everything was yellowish silver and navy blue in the night--I hadn't been aware that it had gotten so late. There was a spark of brightness--a small flare of light at the corner of my eye--and I looked back over at Lance. He cupped his hand around something, a flickering light, then dropped his arm back to his side. A thin stream of smoke escaped the orange-red cherry of the cigarette's end. It looked painfully hot. It looked dishearteningly dim. 

"I thought you quit, yo," I said, trying to be nonchalant. He gave me a noncommittal shrug in response and abruptly, I felt angry. Why wasn't he giving me any answers? He _knew_ that I needed to know. 

"Did you find him?" I repeated. 

I was cold. There was a purposeful chill in the night air, a staid stillness not betrayed by any breath of wind to stir the coldness but by what seemed to be an overall feeling of apprehension, like an icy mist rising from the earth. 

"Did you?" I pressed on, willing Lance to sense my desperation and urgency. 

He shifted slightly, turning a little to look at me. I couldn't see his eyes; there were jagged shadows shielding them from me, and it almost frightened me in that moment because Lance didn't look familiar or safe or real. He looked wild; desolate, jaded. He didn't look like himself at all. 

"Yeah," his voice was low. "Yeah, I found him." 

"Oh." It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. "How is he?" 

"He won't talk to me," Lance's voice sounded dead to my ears, as if he had given up hope. Something welled up inside me; the need to do something, anything; the primal urge to scream and let everyone know my sorrow--Lance's sorrow; the driving hunger to cry and cry and never stop. It hurt to look at Lance. It hurt to think of him giving up; _Lance giving up_. It just wasn't possible; wasn't real. It _couldn't_ be. 

"Go talk to him." I looked at him, my breath hitching in my throat. 

"You're not serious, are you?" I took a step closer even though it felt as if my legs were about to collapse underneath me. The cigarette smoke made my lungs feel full. 

"Lance, he's not gonna talk to _me_..." 

"How do you know that?" Lance asked and he sounded angry. In the darkness, the poppy red cigarette ember trembled. 

"How do you know," he continued, "that he doesn't hate me? Maybe he does. You never know. --No, _we_ never know." 

There was something wrong with him, but my mind refused to process it. 

"Dammit, Todd," Lance jerked suddenly, turned, and flung the cigarette into the night's blackness. It landed on the asphalt somewhere and I couldn't see it anymore. 

"Dammit," he repeated, and his words sounded strained, "Dammit, dammit, _dammit_. I can't do this for him," Lance looked to me and I could've sworn he was about to cry. 

"_Dammit_, Todd," he said, his voice almost pleading, "He's hurting but he won't let me in." 

"Why not?!" I cried, backing away a little. I felt panicked, as if my rapid pounding heart were about to burst. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to deal with this. I didn't want to be as selfless as I needed to be. 

"Be_cause_...he--" Lance broke off, his eyes widening, as if he had just stopped himself from saying something disasterous. 

"Because," he tried again after a moment, "Because. He needs you on this one, Todd. _Please_." 

'Please.' 

Since when did Lance Alvers say 'please?' 

"Where is he?" I found myself asking at length and hating myself for bothering. More than that, though, I hated myself for wanting to run away. 

  


  


He was lying there on the lawn, looking like some dying Adonis. It hurt to watch him staring blankly at the sky. It hurt to think that he couldn't see. It hurt to think. Period. 

"Hey, Pietro," I said, sitting down beside him. He tucked his hands behind his head after a moment and didn't say anything back, so still that it looked like he had died. 

"What's up?" I tried again, wishing desperately that he'd say something; do something. 

There was a ponderous silence, then he turned his head a little and murmured, 

"You tell me." 

His voice sounded foreign to me; bitter and soft. I shouldn't have thought it strange; his words were as quiet and silky smooth as always--no difference there. But the thing was that something _had_ changed. Something. 

"Lance said you wouldn't talk to him," I said because I didn't know what else to say. 

"How can I?" Pietro almost sounded angry but he mostly sounded tired. "It doesn't work that way. It just doesn't." 

"What do you mean" He wasn't making any sense. Pietro and Lance were best friends, weren't they? _Best friends_. 

"I meant that..." He looked at me--rather, turned toward me. His voice had been angry before he stopped, but now; tenderly, "I don't blame him for running off and falling in love...but I can't bear the thought of him leaving me because of it." 

I didn't know what to think so I just watched him. Pietro didn't say anything else for a moment; just pressed his cheek against the dew-wet grass. Then, he asked softly, shakily, 

"I'm not being selfish...am I?" 

Suddenly, I wanted to cry. _He_ thought he was being selfish? He was just scared. _Scared_. He couldn't see--it hurt him to breathe--and, God, he was _afraid_ of being alone. It made sense. It was vulnerability, not selfishness. Selfish? He wasn't selfish. 

I was. 

"No," I told him sincerely, "You ain't selfish at all, yo. Not at all." 

Pietro smiled a little but he still looked like he was about to break down and start sobbing. 

"You really think so? I mean...Lance..." 

"Lance isn't leaving," I said, "he...he doesn't want to either. He's been awful worried about you, you know." 

The more I spoke, the more I thought it was true. 

"He needs to be needed. And...he cares about you. So, it's...there's nothing wrong." 

Pietro was quiet again, then, he whispered, 

"I need him." 

I reached for his hand and tried not to cry. 

"Yeah. I know." 

  


  


"When we got back to the Institute, Lance was sitting on the couch, talking to Summers with Wagner sitting in one of the armchairs with a rather disgruntled expression on his face. He stood up when he saw us and grinned, looking a little more like his age for once. 

"Todd--Pietro, you okay?" 

"Yeah," Pietro instinctively grabbed Lance's hand as soon as we reached him, "I think so." 

"I guess we'll be heading back now," I told Summers. 

"I guess so," was all Summers said in reply, turning slightly to look at Lance for a moment. I think he was looking at Lance and Pietro, but I'm not sure. It didn't matter anyway; Pietro doesn't need some X-man's permission to need Lance. 

"We'll show ourselves the door," Lance said to Summers, "'later." 

"Bye." I wondered why Summers looked so forlorn. 

Then, I realized--a bit off topic-- 

"Where's Pryde?" 

I looked around; I hadn't seen Kitty Pryde in practically a year. Now that I thought about it, it was rather strange--she couldn't have just..._disappeared_ into nowhere like that, right? 

When I asked, Wagner paled a little and Summers shot me a dirty look. 

"She left," Wagner said dully, "Her parents...zey didn't like ze vay that ze mutant situation vas going." 

"Oh." I felt bad. There wasn't any other way to say it, really; I never knew her well but I didn't hate her either. 

"I'm sorry, yo." 

'I'm sorry.' 

  


  


It was quiet the day before New Year's. Maybe it was because we didn't feel like celebrating...but moreso, I think it was because the start of a new year without Freddy made it all the more painful--all the more real. And reality is a terrible thing. 

The journal Lance gave me for Christmas is still on my desk--I didn't know what to write in it even though I tried. I was going to use it as a journal (as journals are usually for) but it didn't seem to fit for some reason so I ended up ripping out the page that I used. Pietro had smiled and told me that I could draw in it if I wanted. 

His smile was just like the self-centered words I had written; it didn't fit. 

I think he wanted to cry, but Pietro's strong. He was. I think he still is somewhere in there, though--he just needs to find it. 

Pietro and I bugged Lance about the whole thing with him always disappearing--making sure he knew that it was okay with us, of course--and I think we actually got a smile out of him. I also think he blushed just a little, which, when I told Pietro, was proclaimed to be evidence that Lance now had a girlfriend. 

For some reason, Pietro looked a little pale when he said it, but I'm pretty sure it was just his eyes getting to him; without his eyesight, he gets headaches sometimes. Once, Pietro had joked that now he knew what Lance felt like. 

Lance didn't find it funny. 

  


  


Last day of the year. 

"I guess we'll just hang out here and wait for the ball to drop, huh?" Lance wouldn't look at us. 

"Any better offers?" Pietro whispered back, his fingers working at a little bit of play dough that he was rolling between his hands to keep himself busy. 

"Well..." Lance was quiet, his gaze flitting to Pietro, then to me. 

"Scott said that we could go to Times Square with them..." 

"Says Scott?" Pietro asked without much interest. 

"Let's not go," I said, staring at the tiny sprawling text of Ayn Rand's Anthem. It didn't make any sense to me. How could anyone want to be one when they could be many? It was a strange little novel, with strange little words in it. But I liked it, for some reason. Some reason. 

Later that night, I went up to bed but I couldn't sleep. I figured that I could go get a drink of water and then go back to my room, but when I got to the kitchen, I found Lance and Pietro were already there. It was frightening, oddly enough, and I didn't want to go in. They weren't quite yelling at each other--Lance never yells anymore, and neither does Pietro--but there was a strange tension between them. 

"I don't understand you," Pietro was saying, "this doesn't change anything! They're them, and we're us. We've got to stay together even more than ever." 

I agreed silently. 

"Yeah, I _know_ that," Lance sounded really frustrated, "but we can't do this alone." 

I frowned, and couldn't help but think that maybe Lance was right, too. There was no question who 'them' was after what Pietro said next; 

"Lance--they're so _fucking pretentious_. They don't _know_ how it feels; what makes you think they'd understand? Everything's been _handed to them_ on a silver platter! A fucking silver platter..." Here, there was a small hitch in his breathing, "A fucking _silver platter_, Lance...it's not fair." 

There was the rustle of cloth, like someone leaning against someone else, and then I heard Lance whisper, 

"I know, 'tro..." Soft sobbing...I didn't want to think about who was crying, 

"I know. It ain't fair...but we're gonna be okay. 

We're gonna be okay. Believe it." 

  


  


~tbc~ 


	17. Prelude to What Exactly?

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 17/? 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

And yes, I know these chapters are really short ^^ But there's a reason for it. Oh, and Todd talks a little funny at places, but that's...just...him. O.o 

By the way, when you're done reading ST, GO READ MY OTHER FIC! n.n;; Hahhaaa...shameless plug-in for 'This Acid Trip Called Life.' You'll like it. I promise. It's haaappy. Anyways *coughs* 

IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ Bwahaha! This is the 2nd to last chapter XD Whee...it's been a helluva ride, non? 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

-- 

It's almost midnight. 

"Lovers should spend New Year's with lovers." Pietro had said to Lance. "You should go be with that special someone." 

"No," Lance had replied, noticing that Pietro was about to cry, "No, New Year's is for family." 

I think Pietro had smiled afterward but I don't remember too clearly. Lance and him are a little better now, I guess...they had had a long talk after he had gone back home--I had gone upstairs to read, but for some reason, I couldn't help but hear their voices if not their words--and afterwards, 'tro seemed calmer...more peaceful. They don't want me to know what they talked about, I think, but that's okay. It would just complicate the tenuous hold on life that we have right now. I'd hate for us to slip. The scary thing is, though, that sometimes I'm not sure why. 

It's already dark; it's ten o'clock and the stars are out. I can hear Lance describing the sky to Pietro from just outside the back door, and I vaguely wondered when he had learned about the constellations. That explains the book on astronomy on the coffee table that I saw the other day, I guess. 

I was doing the dishes, even though I didn't have to. Lance had said that he could do it if I wanted, but I figured that he needed to spend some time with Pietro, especially since it seemed that they were having some problems earlier. Summers called earlier, asking about Times Square. I guess I really should give the guy some credit; he sure is trying his hardest to make us feel like family. I think I was in that frame of mind when I told him 'maybe next time.' 

"Are you sure?" Pietro had asked, his face tilted up towards Lance, 

"I don't want you guys to miss out..." 

"You heard," Lance had grinned, "next time." 

The water in the sink was soapy and for some reason, no matter how careful I was, it kept getting up to my elbows. Finally, I gave up trying to keep my arms dry and just dug in, scrubbing at a plate with one of those hard, flaky-feeling sponges. I couldn't help but wonder what Freddy would say about all this craziness; Summers making nice with us, Pryde getting shipped home, Lance learning about the stars. I couldn't help but wonder what Freddy would think of me. 

Of me...me and my selfishness; me and my directionless existence; me and my goddamn ignorance. 

I wanted to cry. 

Not because I was so unworthy, not because I was afraid Freddy would've hated me... 

Rather, _because I knew that he would forgive me._

Yes, he would forgive me. He would smile and pat me carefully on the shoulder and he would say, 'Don't worry about it, Todd. It's not your fault.' 

'Not my fault?' I would cry, incredulous. 'Of _course_ it's my fault! Look at me, Freddy, look at me now. Where do I go from here? Where do I go?' 

'Forward,' I can almost hear him say kindly, 

'You go forward, Todd. You go forward.' 

Forward? Forward, forward, forward--I _can't_ go forward! I don't even have myself--I don't have Freddy, good 'ol Freddy--I don't...I _can't_. Where is there to go? What is there to do? There's no point in life anyway-it takes too much energy to try so hard. 

Forward? Forward to what? _Forward_?! 

_How can I go forward_? 

  


  


I woke up, even though I didn't even remember falling asleep, in my own bed. There was a complete quiet, the kind that makes you hold your breath, and for a moment, I thought I was completely alone in the blankness. Far off, there was the sound of a door opening. I wanted to turn and see who it was, but I couldn't seem to muster the strength or will. The pillowcase was cool against my cheek and I was afraid that the awful nauseating warmth pounding in my temples would dry me up into an empty husk if I moved from it. 

"Hey," I heard, and I opened my eyes. Across my window, the shades were drawn, casting shadows on the carpet and thin bars of sandy light. 

"How you doin', kiddo?" 

I turned a little and saw Lance, dark against the hazy gray of the blinds. 

"I..." I started but my tongue felt dry and thick, sticking sickeningly against the roof of my parched mouth. Promptly, Lance handed me a glass of water. It tasted metallic and made my stomach feel too full, but I drank about half of it anyway, then held it to my forehead. My hand shook. 

"I don't feel too good," I mumbled because it took too much effort to lie and say that I was fine. He just handed me two Advils, which I swallowed with some effort after heaving myself up laboriously from the bed. After I drank some more, I managed to inquire, 

"What happened, yo?" 

Lance hesitated, then murmured so quietly that I had to move my head a little closer to hear him, 

"You passed out." 

"When?" I asked and tried to look at my clock but the motion made me queasy. 

"Two days ago," Lance said after a moment. 

"Two _days?_" I repeated, feeling bewildered through the daze of grogginess that swamped my mind, 

"How can I have been out for _two days_?" 

"You had a fever," he told me, a worried frown furrowing his brow. 

"And," I felt an incessant heady rush overtake me as he held up a large hardbound book that I had hidden under my covers between the wall and my mattress, 

"You haven't been sleeping well, have you?" 

"I can't," I whispered, my lips feeling dry. 

Lance didn't say anything for a long time, and I was so numb that it didn't feel like I was awake at all. Then, he said quietly, 

"If you ever need to talk, you know where I am, right?" 

At that moment, I wasn't sure why he was asking that, but I said, "Yeah," and he smiled. 

"Get some rest, okay, kid?" 

"Yeah," I repeated, my eyes already slipping close. Then, I paused, thinking about something that was clouded with sleep. 

Lance was already at the door when I spoke up, asking blearily, 

"Did I say anything?" 

"What?" He half-turned toward me. 

"Back there," I was already dropping off again. 

"When I blacked out." 

There was a beat of silence, then he said softly, 

"Just some stuff, Todd...Now, get some sleep." 

"Like what?" I asked, struggling to stay awake long enough to hear his answer. 

"Go to sleep." 

"Lance," I mumbled and he paused, then said gently, 

"Just some stuff about going forward...that's all kid. Now, go to sleep, okay?" 

I didn't respond because I was already sinking into slumber, dreaming about brotherly giants and clay frogs and a blinding golden light beyond the horizon. 

  


~tbc~   


  


A/N: Oh mah gawd--a..._HAPPY_ fic?! Is this possible?! Or is...Nai going to kill the characters off like in When You Wake? -.-; *coughs* Eh, those things sneak up on me as much as they sneak up on you guys ^-^; Anyways, stay tuned for the next chapter! The final installment and a huge-ass author's note that will explain some stuff and thank all you WONDERFLUOUS reviewers! I'm trying to reach the 100 count here, people! Think you can help me? ^.~ The button's right down there...! 


	18. The Very Beginning

Title: Simple Tensions 

Part: 18/18 

Author: Naisumi 

Rating: R (just to be safe) 

Disclaimer: You've _got_ to be kidding...^.~ 

Archive: If you want, but could you tell me at least? 

Warnings: Language 

Notes: Lots of angst, BHness, tense switchness and...schtuff. Sheesh. And all this lack of synonyms is killing me T.T 

Holy shiznit. Could it be? A happy fic? ...don't make bets yet ^.~ 

All similarities to S.E. Hinton are disclaimed because I only noticed after I wrote it >.< p>IMPORTANT: I've adopted a new policy: STNH. Season Two Never Happened. Therefore, Lance never tried to leave, Tabitha doesn't exist, and neither do any of the new people yet. 

Additional Notes: NOT BETAD! ^^ Bwahaha! This is the last chapter XD Whee...it's been a helluva ride, non? 

If you caught all my symbolism, you are GOD. 

Enjoy, and please give me C&C!!! 

-- 

School hasn't started yet, which is just as well since I haven't had the time to do any homework. Lance finally let me out of bed about three days ago when it became apparent that I was about to pull something in my neck from leaning over my books so long. It was actually pretty nice, though; being in bed, I mean. Pietro had sat by me most of the time and talked softly, his radio playing faintly from on the windowsill. He's been getting more normal now...he seems a lot stronger, a lot more substantial. 

We--Lance, Pietro, Summers (_Summers!_ Who would've ever thought?) and me--went to the hospital the other day to get a follow-up on Pietro's condition. 'Condition'--that's the term those big-shot doctors use to say that someone's fucked up. It happens that Pietro's lungs are getting better, which none of us could've foreseen. 

"He's healing really quickly," the doctor had said, smiling warmly at Pietro, who was clinging tightly to both my hand and Lance's, as if he could barely believe the good news. 

"It's quite miraculous." 

"Yes," Lance said, grinning so widely at all of us I was afraid his face would split in two, "it is." 

"What about his sight?" Summers had asked, watching Lance and Pietro. 

"At the rate he's healing," the doctor said thoughtfully, "he just might get it back." 

"Thank God," I heard Pietro whisper, 

"Thank God." 

I never thought that Pietro would be one to believe in a higher power, but then again, I'm almost a hundred percent sure it was just a saying. Still, it must've taken a leap of faith for him to even use a phrase like that the way he did. I couldn't help but notice that Pietro was looking up at Lance while he was saying it, a sort of 'My God, you were _right_' expression on his face; a sort of pearl shimmer in his eyes, like the glow of awe. 

'My God, you were _right_.' 

I could remember Lance telling me once, 'You know, Todd, I don't believe in this goddamn society. You might ask me why I try to keep a little faith...well, all I've got t'say is that I ain't got faith in our world but _I've got faith in us_. Believe it, Todd.' 

And, of course, I did. I never really thought about what he said, but after the hospital visit, I thought about it, alright. I thought--I forced myself to, thought it was already on my mind from the hospital--about Freddy, with his quiet, innate wisdom and patience. I thought about Pietro, him and his angerless fall from grace, his oddly nonviolent quiet spiral into despair. I thought about Lance--Lance, God, _Lance_! He just doesn't make any sense; no sense at all--him and his reckless, crooked grin and his tormented soul. 

Freddy with his heartfelt, latent mind. 

Pietro with his silently tragic soul. 

Lance with his heart; his _dreams_. 

No one could've thought that Freddy was such a good listener; no one could've thought that Pietro _felt_ so much; no one could've thought that Lance was a dreamer. 

I wondered where that left me. I wondered what I could do. 

'You go forward.' 

Taking the stairs two by two, I realized what I could do. I realized what I could _be_. 

I could be the voice. 

  


  


"Hey, Todd, slow down," Pietro said as I rushed past him, a familiar luster in his blue, blue eyes, catching the golden light above just so. 

"What's the hurry?" 

"I'll tell you later," I called over my shoulder before skidding into my room and closing the door. Sitting down at my desk, I could barely breathe, but I forced myself to calm down; to think. 

And so I did. I thought it through; I thought it out; upside, down to the left, to the right, to the southeast--and then I stopped. I thought about the simple tensions of life--not anything about death or hurt or tragedy. Just four guys--a family, if you will--four guys sitting on the back porch, watching the sun go down, talking about a ruined mattress because someone decided to go sledding in June, talking about clay sculptures of lily pads because someone had talent and art and appreciation for beauty, talking about the stars and belief and dreams, talking about anything under the sun and everything off the subject just because they could. 

After a moment, I took out the worn leather journal that Lance had given me, I listened to the sizzling of the frying pan in the kitchen, the distant laughter of Pietro about something he had heard on the radio, and I put the point of my pen on the first pale beige line. 

And this is what I wrote: 

_This is my story. You don't have to necessarily listen--you don't even have to _pretend_ to listen. However, this is my story, and even if you don't care about it, it's still going to exist. _I_ am going to exist..._

  


  


~fin   


  
  


A/N: And so ends my mega-saga with a godawfully short chapter >.O Sorry guys! Hook your ankles and prop 'em up on the desk, kiddies, it's time for the credits and a long A/N. *coughs* Anyways...I'm not quite sure why this fic means so much to me. I think it's because I've always found the first person narrative enthralling and just positively amazing. I hope I have been able to capture the sheer emotion that I've been attempting to convey through words. It's hard to do so with simplicity, especially for me, since one tends to want to use elaborate words. I guess I could've used really long phrases, less repetition, more clarity at parts, and a plethora of synonyms. However, as an author--and as the author of this particular fic--I found that it would be more appropriate if the story was a bit rough around the edges. 

I'm sure that this idea isn't the most original you've ever heard, but I hope that I took you guys through it as best as I can. I now encourage you to review lol so I know what you guys think, and also so that I might, hopefully, reach that magical one hundred review count. I've never really gotten there before, and it'd mean an awful lot if this fic could get me to that point ^^ 

NOW! ^__^ All you special girls and boys who have reviewed! I'm sorry if you review after this is posted--I'll try to update this end part as the reviews (once again, I'm crossing all fingers, toes, and eyes here) roll in. I know I haven't been the best at replying to reviews (it was so much easier on MLs >.  
  


To **KittyKate**, thank you so ever much for all your support! I enjoyed reading your poem (I don't know if you received the e-mail I sent you regarding it) and you've got some serious talent there, (yo) ^.~ Thanks so much!! ::~:: To **batE**, I share your pain! lol It's so sad to hurt Pietro >.O I felt guilty throughout all of this and _especially_ in my other fic _When You Wake_, too. It was actually my original plan to kill of Pietro in this O.o But Sheendo (who is no longer with us in the Evo-section -.- *bows head* She left us for GW T.T Wah!) convinced me otherwise...namely by threatening me bodily harm if I did O.o. Thank you so much for reviewing my fic! To **Nightfan**, you of the brief review ^.~ I sincerely thank you in any case. It was wonderfluous just to hear from a reader! ::~:: To **SRI Queen**, *sigh* Well, Morgan's not with us anymore, either T.T but I still feel the need to respond. Namely with, *glomps* I LOVE YOU MORGAN! KEEP WRITING! PLEASE??! Lol Thanks so much for the review!! ::~:: To **InterNutter**, wow, I've gotten so many reviews from you! Thank you so much! Thanks to you, I could always check my statistics and not be disappointed with no change O.o That's always a sad thing lol. Thanks again!! Happy fic-writings ^-^ ::~:: To **Morwen O'Conner** otherwise known as Nai's HERO!! among a couple of others, WHEE! MORWEN! ^__^ Thanks for reviewing so much! It means so much, seeing as how you're my HERO and everything. I'll be sure to write lots of happy!Scott for you. Thanks again!! ::~:: To **Madcat**, thanks so much for the review! I'm glad you enjoyed reading the fic with all the Toddage ^-^. ::~:: To **Sheendo** who is writing a kick-ass 3x4 fic right around now, *glomps* I wish you were still here with us! But since you're not...uh...write more! Now! ^.~ Thanks for the good times, hon! ::~:: To **NHSpartanGal14**, Man, oh, man, where do I start?! lol You've been such a loyal reader, and I thank you so much! You've reviewed my other fics as well, and I can't tell you how much it just...*wipes away a tear* WARMS my heart to read your reviews. You make me feel so loved! You and Lotus Blossom! *glomps* Thank you so very, very, very much! lol ::~:: To **Rpshk**, Whee! Thank you so much! And poor Wolverine O.o All the adamantium? How'd he stay...not...squishy? >.O Wait, never mind, I think the late hour's making me incoherent. I give you many thanks and several bags of fudge brownies! Thank you thank you thank you!! ::~:: To **Snoopy**, I'm assuming you like Pietro lol Thanks so much for the review! And look...happy!Pietro! ^-^ I hope that that makes up for all the tragedy I put him through n.n; Thanks again!! ^-^ ::~:: To **Lotus Blossum**, another fan who is just too kind! Thank you so terribly much! *huggles* You're really too flattering in your reviews lol but I think my writing can take it ^.~ I'm glad you think that my stories are deep--that's what I aim for! As long as you're happy, I'm happy. Thank you so much!! ::~:: To **Crys Clouse**, thank you so, so, sooo much!! I'm glad you liked it, and yes lol it's very angsty o.o I find many of my fics are. Which is strange, seeing as how I'm a hyperactive fruitbasket in real life... ::~:: To **Lildevil4ever**, Yes, shocking isn't it? ^.~ Well, I hope that this ending has assuaged any tugging of the heartstrings you might've experienced. Thanks for the review!! ::~:: To **Eileen**, It gets better ^-^ I'm sorry about making you cry o.O Eheh...well, at least the ending was happy, if not all fluffy and cute and spoofy like the beginning. I kind of slipped back into that mode at one point along the way, I think lol Right before they find Pietro. Thank you for reviewing! ::~:: To **Crystal, aka Matt & Mimi**, Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you liked the fic!! ^-^ ::~:: To **Youth**, Thanks! I'm glad that the Brotherhood came out a little differently than they're usually seen. I've always had a warped view of them O.o Thanks again!! ^__^ ::~:: To **You don't have a name (X Strategos X @aol.com)** ^.~, Thank you! Yes, *gripes* KidsWB pisses me off so much. The 2nd season is practically all filler! True, Walk on the Wild Side did amuse me (heh...lots of femslash and dorky!Lance! It was great, man!), but still x.x All the Evanness...make it stop! Anyways, thanks sooo much for your reviews! I really appreciate it!! ::~:: To **Qu-sha**, Well, you were right about Freddy T.T A moment of silence for our favorite Blob...anyways, *coughs* at least Pietro's still here! ^-^; Thanks so much for reviewing!! n.n ::~:: To **Saturn's Hikari**, Aww, thank you so much!! lol I'm glad you think that my fic 'rocks' ^-^; I kind of look over my fics and all I seem to see are...typos o.O; Thanks so much!! ^___^ ::~:: To **Icelightning**, lol Thanks so much for reviewing! I know how much effort it can take ^-^;; Seeing as how I seem to have contracted senioritis two years in advance and an acute case of loseritis as well, I experience phobia of the Review button a lot, too. Thank you, and I'm glad you're enjoying (enjoyed?) the "roller coaster ride!" ::~:: To **Katterree Fengari**, thanks so much! lol I pride myself on my poetic descriptions ^.~ Unfortunately, Todd's probably not that messed up O.o So I had to curb my instincts. Anyways, thanks again!! ::~:: To **Klitch**, Yay! Thanks so much! lol I'm sure this isn't the best Brotherhood fic out there (*coughs*Morwen*coughs*Sheendo*coughs*Rosiel) but I'm flattered and honored that you think so! Thank youuuu~! ::~:: To **Alex Destine**, *GASP!* You're my hero, too! *GLOMPS* ^__^ I lovvve your fics! And woooooow...you're reading mine lol Thank you soooooo much for reviewing!!! ::~:: To **Animegirl96789**, Well, now, that's open to interpretation ^.~ In _Hanging Boundless_ (featuring oddball Lance-hating Scott at the beginning--*coughs* keyword being 'beginning'), it's Scott. Other than that, well...^-^ Thanks so much for reviewing!! ::~:: To **Yoda**, Yodaaa! Yoda was a muppet. It was great! My friend drew a Yoda but it looked like a bunny on speed...*coughs* Anyways, here's your happy ending, friend! ^-^ Thanks so much for reviewing! ::~:: To **Silentdemon**, Aww, thanks so much! I'm touched that I could evoke such strong emotion from you. Thanks again!! ::~:: To **Nameless Prophecy**, Thanks so much! That's really sweet ^-^ lol well, I'm getting closer... 

Well, that concludes all there is now. I'd like to THANK YOU ALL again! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! Pocky and fudge brownies for all! I wuggle you all! (yes, you read that right...wuggle. Patented, along with my 'wonderfluous' ^.~) I'm sorry if I missed any of you! E-mail me and I'll add you immediately! 

Thanks again for reading! I hope you enjoyed. One parting word is that if any of you are slash fans, I plan on releasing the L/S companion piece to this called _Hanging Boundless_. If you've been doing your homework and you know what a pathological slasholic I am, then you've probably noticed the little L/S hints that have been dropped throughout the fic. ^^ I kept it nonslash, though, because I knew that actually including the romantic relationship in the fic would detract from its true point and plot and also because I knew that Todd probably wouldn't give a damn lol *sweatdrops* Maybe he wouldn't have even noticed O.o He is rather in a depressed!funk in this fic. All up to the end. 

Anyways, I'll see you next fic! Hope you tune in again. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW, people! ^-^ *blows kisses then poings away* 


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